


You Know Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings

by alienharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Boys In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, Highway to Hell, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Sappy Ending, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stairway to Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienharry/pseuds/alienharry
Summary: "... Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they're born."- F. Scott FitzgeraldHarry and Louis navigate the universe.





	You Know Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Stairway to Heaven_ by Led Zeppelin
> 
> I'd of course like to thank my lovely betas [Ella](http://spnife.tumblr.com) and [Nina](http://rosealouis.tumblr.com). As always, they're a powerhouse of help in my life. Also thank you to [Sammie](http://britpickerhl.tumblr.com) for making this _way_ less American than it was (England doesn't have food trucks???).
> 
> And one last thank you to [Mickey](http://tippingbrandy.tumblr.com), [Milla](http://kiwihunny.tumblr.com), [Sophia](http://sterekfrustrations.tumblr.com), and [Nicole](http://movieactorharry.tumblr.com) for helping me with the idea and the plot. Y'all are ballers.

Harry’s known his favorite song since he was twelve years old.

He remembers the exact moment he decided - when he heard the way the gentle strumming of the guitar lead into the clever lyricism and felt the way the song resonated with him. He loved how soft it was, like a cloud wrapping around him in a poetic spiral, and how he could feel so at ease even while the words hit so hard. The music flowed through him and lit him up in a way he didn’t know was possible.

His mum had been thrilled when he told her that he had found his song - the one piece of music that made him feel alive inside and out. She’d played it on repeat at every family meal for a month, and by the end of it his sister, Gemma, remarked that if she ever heard _Stairway to Heaven_ again, it would be too soon.

Harry didn’t care, not really. He was proud to have found the song that was made for him and to be one step closer to finding his soulmate.

Every time he came across the song - when it played at dinner, when it came on the radio - he loved listening to it and hearing a piece of himself within it. Every lyric was a direct pathway into his heart, and he hoped that when his soulmate heard it, they’d realize that they’re seeing Harry and everything that makes him who he is.

He didn’t have his own soulmark yet, but he was in a constant state of anticipation. He couldn’t wait to start trying to find his soulmate even if the only thing he has to go by is the name of their favorite song that’ll eventually be tattooed somewhere on his body. Every day that he woke up only to find the mark hadn’t appeared yet was just another test of his patience, but Harry was perfectly willing to be patient.

One of the things Harry truly never understands, though, is the stigma about soulmates. A lot of people say that having one takes away your free will - that once you find your soulmate, all of the opinions you have towards whom you want to fall in love with are gone. But Harry doesn’t like to think like that, not at all. He’s been in love a few times in his life. None have been with his true soulmate, but that doesn’t make his feelings any less real. They didn’t work out in the end, of course, but it wasn’t because of their soulmarks. They didn’t work out because Harry’s destined to be with _one_ person, he’s _made_ for a very specific person. There’s only one other soul in the world that is perfectly moulded to fit with his, and none of his partners were it.

They all had different songs on their bodies, different melodies, different pieces from different people, none of which Harry could live up to.

It doesn’t make him bitter; it just makes him want to find his own soulmate faster.

There were different images Harry had of his soulmate, different songs he’d hoped they’d enjoy. He’d hear something soft and beautiful on the radio and wonder if his soulmate felt the music the same way he did. He would be at the record store, looking at different albums and envisioning his soulmate in every shade of pastel that each cover had to offer.

He loved the idea that his soulmate would be a lover of all things soft with no edges and have nothing but love to give. He couldn’t wait for them to find each other and start their life together in candy floss dreams and a rose-colored heaven.

Harry was sixteen years old when his tattoo appeared. It happened overnight, and he almost didn’t realize it had formed until he was changing in the locker room and Niall pointed it out enthusiastically.

Harry tried to read it himself, but it was written across his shoulder, and the mirror, of course, only made the words appear backwards. He ended up having Niall - his best friend for the past sixteen years - take a picture of it and show him, but when he saw what it said, he was left an acrid taste in his mouth.

There, permanently etched on his body in chicken scratch handwriting were the words ‘ _Highway to Hell_ ’, completely ruining his aesthetic and ending every soft image he’d ever had of his soulmate.

♬

Once a month, Harry lets himself get completely and utterly obliterated. Or actually, _Niall_ lets Harry get completely and utterly obliterated. This usually happens at one of the bars nearest their apartment, but sometimes, on nights when Niall’s feeling particularly kind, Harry manages to convince him to go to one a little farther away for karaoke.

When they first moved to the city together, the two found a small bar named _SoMa_ tucked in between a bank and a second-hand store. Harry immediately felt at home in the crowd of people belting out the words to _Piano Man_ louder than the piano itself. Niall felt at home with cold guinness and a bartender to listen to his jokes.

Luckily, Harry gets to visit once every few months - thanks to Niall - and each trip is a new and wonderful experience.

He doesn’t sing often, though. He doesn’t have stage fright, and he’s not uncomfortable with his voice, but the bar does have a bit of a reputation. The _SoMa_ on the sign isn’t actually its name, but what it’s known for.

Soulmates.

This bar, out of every other one in the city, has the biggest record of soulmates matched inside its walls. There’s something about the music and the people that draws everyone in, and when you hear the song that’s _tattooed on your body_ being sung, it’s not like it’s that difficult to get in touch with whoever’s singing it - with your _soulmate_.

So Harry’s only sung once - his favorite song, of course, as is the standard in a place like this. Unfortunately, it didn’t yield any results as far as his soulmate goes, and Harry hasn’t tried again in the year since.

Not that he sings for his soulmate. He’ll never be the person to light a neon sign above his head with his song on it, or have a boombox playing it as he walks across town. He’s the kind of guy that’s happy to live his life now, and when his soulmate shows themself, it’ll happen naturally and at the right time. That’s how he’s always imagined the meeting to go, at least.

So he doesn’t sing for his soulmate. He sings for himself. He sings because _Stairway to Heaven_ is his favorite song, and he has _killer_ vocals that the song perfectly displays. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does, it’s for himself.  

Just him.

♬

The sound technician is looking at Harry like he’s crazy. Her right eye is cocked, and she huffs - less than pleased it seems - at Harry’s request. “You’re joking, right?” she deadpans.

Harry shakes his head, mouth set in a firm line. “Absolutely not.”

The technician isn’t unwarranted in her disbelief. Harry knows how it sounds, how ridiculous he looks just by bringing it up. That knowledge doesn’t stop him, though.

“That song is eight minutes long, kid.” The technician still hasn’t put the request in, Harry notes. It’s only a little tap of the screen to bring the song up and add Harry’s name to the waiting list, but her fingers haven’t moved from the death grip they’ve got on the edge of the table.

He gets the same reaction every time he so much as mentions his favorite song. He gets jokes on what a burden it must be for his soulmate every time the song comes on the radio, not being able to change it, looking in the music for any piece of whom Harry could be, and having to wait eight damn minutes before they’re allowed to rest. Harry’s heard it all, but it doesn’t change anything - _can’t_ change anything. It’s not like Harry could call up Led Zeppelin and ask them to make the song shorter. He can’t go back to when he was twelve and heard that song for the first time. He can’t change the way it lit him up inside and inspired him to be the man he is today. He wouldn’t want to, anyway.

The technician eventually sighs and adds the song title with minimal enthusiasm. It doesn’t hurt Harry’s feelings, though. It’ll be a brilliant performance, he’s certain, and the technician will wonder why she was ever annoyed by one simple song, and such a beautiful one at that.

When his name is called later that night, he’s two drinks in and feeling a pleasant buzz flowing under his skin.

The first strums of the guitar begin the song, and Harry keeps his eyes peeled a little, in case of anybody noticing the song in more than casual recognition.

When the lyrics come up, when Harry begins singing, he pours himself in the song, exposing his emotions in a way that no other song could possibly allow him to do. He makes the performance something to remember - something worthy of being tattooed on someone’s body and in their heart.

When the heavier bits of the song come up and the energy in the rooms amplifies, Harry really gets into it, throwing himself around the stage and making sure no bit of the performance leaves anyone unsatisfied.

He wants everyone to see the song the same way he does. He wants to peel away the layers and preconceptions and lay the music bare on the floor.

For all that the song is, eight minutes and full of complex, ever changing sections, it always seems to go by so quickly, the time flying as though it’s just a gentle tune played by the wind and not his entire heart fighting its way to the surface.

Harry walks off the small stage, smiling brightly at the sound technician as he passes. She isn’t any less annoyed than she was when he requested the song, but she looks relieved it’s over now, and Harry takes that as a strike against the song and not himself.

After all, he likes to think he did the piece proud.

“Hey,” Harry’s stopped by a voice as he’s walking past the bar. He turns around and takes notice of everyone around before his eyes land on a man standing next to two empty seats with a smile bright enough to light a cigarette on a cold, winter night. “That was really great up there.”

“Oh, thank you,” Harry says, confused as to what exactly is happening. He’s still a bit disoriented from the high of performing his favorite song, and it’s not going away as quickly as it should be. The world is swirling with an iridescent touch that’s far more pleasant than anything he’s ever felt in this bar before. “Are you going up next?”

“Oh, no,” the stranger shakes his head. “Don’t think I could follow that up if I’m honest. You were the best one tonight.”

Harry laughs, letting his head drop with it. “Thank you,” he repeats himself. “I don’t get up there often.”

“That’s a shame. You look like you belong on stage.”

He can’t stop smiling, not with the way the compliments keep dripping from this stranger’s tongue like raindrops off the petals of a daisy. “I can only say thank you so many times before it starts to sound insincere.”

“Well how many times is that?” The man smirks, and if Harry doesn’t come down from the high of being on stage and being with this stranger soon, he’ll have to sit down. “I have lot of things I want to say to you.” Harry’s bright red at this point, too flustered to even lift his gaze from where it’s fallen to his feet. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Uh.” Harry looks towards his table only to see Niall surrounded by a crowd of people, and he decides that his friend is well enough off that Harry can enjoy the company of the man whose words are a lavender gift. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

The man grins and flicks his head towards the empty seat next to him. Harry takes the cue and sits down. The air around them feels almost light, like gravity up and left the two alone in the wake of the song - Harry puts it down to still feeling the effects of performing.

“I’m Harry by the way,” He introduces himself.

“Louis.” _Louis_. Harry repeats the name to himself in his head, wishing it wouldn’t be poor social etiquette to say it out loud again and again. He has a strange need to let the name roll off his tongue and see if it sounds as musical as it feels. “How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

_Louis._

“You may have,” Harry tells him, but even he doesn’t believe his words. Looking at this man - at _Louis_ \- Harry knows he’s never seen him. He’s special, Harry thinks. There’s something new and beautiful and if Harry had seen Louis before today, he knows he would’ve made a move to say hello, to get to know his name so he could say it in his head twenty times, hoping it’d start sound real to him. “I don’t get up on stage every time. I’m only here every few months, but you could have seen me before.”

Louis’ grinning, and even though they’re sitting right next to each other, it feels like Harry’s watching him through the lens of a camera like a patron in the theatre, having paid top whack to see the sun shining on this man.

“You don’t seem like you’d be forgettable, Harry.” Harry tries to hide his smile at the words. There was a teasing edge to Louis’ voice, and there’s clearly more to be said, but Harry can’t wipe the grin from his face. “Besides, I feel like I would’ve remembered a shirt this loud.”

Harry laughs, a boisterous thing that has the other people at the bar looking over. He doesn’t have it in himself to be ashamed, not when Louis looks so pleased by the sound. “This isn’t even the loudest one I own. It’s pretty tame compared to the rest of my collection.”

“Well I’m sure you pull them off,” Louis says. “You’ve got a face that could sell anything.”

Harry can feel his cheeks flaming at the casual flattery. He considers this guy, this _Louis_ , and how he captured Harry’s entire night with a simple compliment of his performance. He hopes, more than anything else, that this is flirting, that it’s more than just a few innocent statements as a bystander.

Thinking about it, about where they are and what Harry’s just sung, he wants Louis to be his soulmate. He’s never been in a rush to meet them, but with this man sitting here, impressing Harry with nothing more than a few words and a smile bright enough to light up every borough of London, he hopes to see _Stairway to Heaven_ scrawled delicately across some part of Louis’ body.

Not to mention, _Highway to Hell_ seems like the kind of song Louis would fall in love with.

For Louis, _Harry_ could fall in love with it.

“So the song,” Harry brings up, trying his best to be casual. The last thing he wants are red lights flashing about his head and alerting everyone in the vicinity that Harry’s so absolutely into this complete stranger, so he’s stuck, fishing for even the slightest sign that this could be his soulmate. “What did you think?”

Louis grins at Harry like he can see through him. He waves down the waiter and keeps Harry in suspense for an answer. It would annoy him if anybody else had done it, but Harry’s already found himself too invested in this man to care about any little games he has to play.

It’s a trap he’s collapsed into before; falling in love with a stranger. There are so many beautiful people with beautiful stories in this world, and Harry’s a fool for love. Ever since he first fell in love with _Stairway to Heaven_ , he’s been waiting for a person to make him feel the same. There’s a burning need inside him to be pulled away from reality and into a dreamworld just by the sound of someone’s voice or they way their eyes shine when they bathe in the moonlight.

Harry’s a fool, it’s his biggest downfall. It’s also what makes him _him_.

“I already told you how amazing you sounded,” Louis shakes his head and Harry wants to smile at the fake exasperation. He knows that Louis’ playing with him, that he knows the clear intention of the question, but Harry truly doesn’t care. He’s endeared by the mocking.

“Not me,” Harry clarifies. “The song.”

“Stairway to Heaven? I loved it. It’s always a crowd favorite.”

“It is, yeah,” Harry agrees, speaking slowly. “It’s my favorite song.” He pays extra attention to Louis, watching to see if there are any ticks in his demeanor to reveal the answer to the question Harry didn’t ask. It probably looks ridiculous, but Harry’s dropped any care he has for that.

Louis nods along, but he doesn’t slip up and show surprise or excitement or anything other than a considering look. It’s as though Harry revealed his love for curry or his habit of taking pictures of beautiful things - there’s no reaction. “It is a great song. I always liked it growing up.”

“Hm.”

The bartender finally makes his way over to where Louis and Harry are sitting and takes their orders. Harry absolutely doesn’t blush when Louis pays. That’s why Harry’s sitting here in the first place, so there’s no reason for Harry’s face to redden. There’s no reason for Harry to think about how date-like it appears. Absolutely no reason.

“So, Harry,” Louis cuts through Harry’s internal denial. “Tell me about yourself. Do you work?”

“I do, yeah.” Harry’s trying his hardest to continue the conversation in the direction Louis is heading it as opposed to back the way they’ve came from. The soulmate-shaped elephant in the room isn’t likely to slip his mind easily, but he’ll try. “I work part-time work at Millie’s Bookshop, but I’m hoping for a promotion soon.”

“That sounds familiar,” Louis says. “Is it near here?”

“Down on Frith.” Harry points with his thumb behind him. He feels a bit ridiculous doing so as he doesn’t actually know which way Frith Street is. He can barely remember where Niall parked, yet alone the compass direction of his job. “It’s just a small thing, but it’s doing really well compared to some of the bigger chains nearby.”

Louis’ nodding along eagerly, and it takes some control for Harry not to laugh. It’s an awful lot like the first-date dance where everyone acts extremely invested in every minute detail of the other’s life. The only thing restraining Harry from bringing it up is that he can’t tell if this is friendly conversation or something more.

“Well I love supporting local businesses,” Louis supplies excitedly, making Harry smile at the enthusiasm being displayed. “Maybe I could stop by sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

The bar is crowded, the countertop is sticky, and a ridiculous song from the eighties is being shouted in the background, but Harry swears the entire moment was washed by a spring rain, and now there’s a gentle glow to it. There’s a shine to Louis’ eyes that make Harry want to swim in their light forever.

Soulmate or not, Harry can feel himself falling for this man - luminescent in such a dingy bar.

“So what about you?” Harry asks. They’re both watching the bartender mix their drinks together, but Harry’s still sneaking glances at the other man.

“What about me?”

“Do you work?”

“Of course!” Louis’ laugh is a symphony of mellifluous sounds on par with birds chirping on an early spring morning, waves cresting along the nighttime shore, and even _Stairway to Heaven_. “I teach english and drama at Ashbourne College.”

Harry can feel himself leaning closer to Louis, it’s subtle, but his body won’t stop drifting. “Oh so you have a real job then? You’re an adult,” he teases.  

“Are you not an adult?” His eyebrows do this jump, a concerned move that along with the tilt of his head make him look every bit a worried puppy.

Harry doesn’t know what cosmic presence decided he was worthy of such a blessing, but he won’t question anything. He just wants to enjoy the moment and share in the beauty that is _Louis_.

“I’m twenty-three,” Harry confirms, choosing not the note the small relief Louis barely expresses. There must be _something_ between them if Louis’ concerned with Harry’s age. “But I work in a bookstore and share a flat with my mate. I’m definitely not an adult.”

“Ah, the good old days.” Louis leans back in his seat and Harry’s tempted to follow the motion just to be closer. “Sharing a flat and working part time in the heart of London. What I wouldn’t give to go back.”

“Really?”

“Sure! There’s something lovely about the struggle, I think. Living wage slip to wage slip with your best mate. Staying out all night eating cheap food and walking around a record shop just because it’s open and _warm_. Some of my best memories are from my worst nights in my early twenties.”

Harry looks Louis over, internally questioning whether his impression of Louis was correct at first and if he’s as close to Harry’s age as he thinks he is. Obviously if he’s older it won’t be too much of an issue - Harry’s no stranger to dating people older than himself.

And if they’re soulmates, it _really_ won’t be an issue.

“How old are you?”  

“Just turned twenty-six,” Louis answers, sounding put out and utterly exhausted just from speaking. “I’m old.”

There’s something about his reaction that makes Harry giddy, has him wanting to joke along, to tease Louis just for the sake of having an inside joke. There’s this strange pull inside of him that needs to do whatever he can just to see Louis laugh. “You’re over the hill by now.”

Louis grins along, his fingers tracing empty patterns on the bartop. “I should be planning for retirement.”

The bartender comes over with their drinks finally, staying silent about the snickering going on and the smiles that Harry and Louis are trying to keep to themselves. It’s intimate, and even in the middle of this bar, packed full of people on a Saturday night, it feels like it’s only the two of them, a clandestine affair in which Harry tries to feel out whether this man is his soulmate, and Louis sits there looking ethereal even in the dim lights.

“So tell me about the song,” Louis says, and Harry has to drag his eyes away from where he was watching Louis’ hands. “ _Stairway to Heaven_. Why is it your favorite?”

“I don’t really know,” Harry answers. He considers every bit and it’s not that there’s something to love about it, it’s that there’s _everything_ to love about it. “I was young when I first heard it - in my 7th year, I think. Everything just sort of came to light with it. I felt like I was understanding parts of myself I didn’t even know I had. It’s just so soft and easy to listen to, but it hits hard, and I love that every time I hear it, it’s like the first time all over again.”

Louis’ watching him closely, his hand tense around his beer. “That’s a good reason, I’d say.”

Harry wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t, though. There’s nothing he wants less than to ruin what they might have going by making an inopportune move “The lyricism is genius. I’d tattoo every word of it on myself if I had an any room.”

“That’d be awfully confusing, wouldn’t it?” Harry chooses to hyperfocus on Louis’ words and not spend too much time thinking of the way Louis’ eyes sweep over Harry’s body, locating all of his visible tattoos. “With a soulmate tattoo, surely you’d confuse the two.”

Harry wants to laugh at that, at the idea that he’d ever confuse the most eloquently beautiful song in the world with the source for all of Harry’s enmity.

“I’d never confuse them, trust me.” He tried to avoid scoffing or putting any harsh inflection into his words, but he fails on both fronts. “There’s a vary stark difference between them, one that hasn’t been able to slip my mind since I got it.”

“You, uh,” Louis clears his throat, and Harry’s almost sure he can see an emotion on his face, but it’s gone before it was there, and his tone is back to conversational. “You sound a little angry about that.” Harry must’ve been imagining things.

“I wouldn’t say _angry_. I just - ”

Harry’s cut off by Louis averting his eyes to just over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turns around to find a man with soft eyes and what appears to be the _perfect_ amount of stubble standing awfully close to him.

“We’re heading out, Lou,” the stranger says, and Harry’s heart sinks at the idea of this man being something to Louis. “You want a lift?”

“Absolutely, yes.” Louis starts grabbing his things and downs the rest of his beer quickly. He’s moving quickly and Harry wants to scream out for Louis to say something, explain why leaving is suddenly such an urgent affair for him, and why he can’t just stay and spend the rest of the night here with Harry. “Can’t trust meself to walk the streets of London this late. Might end up stumbling into traffic again.”

Harry turns around again to see if Louis’ friend is going to say anything in response, but instead, he meets the man’s eyes, staring at him questioningly.

“Right.” Harry faces Louis again at the sound of his voice. “This is my new friend Harry.” Harry can feel himself smiling bitterly at the term ‘friend’ but tries not to let it show too obviously. He’s nothing if not completely amicable in the face of adversity. “New friend Harry, can I get your number?”

“I - ”

“I have to head out with them,” Louis explains, “but I’d love to finish our conversation sometime.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, but Louis overpasses that idea completely and stretches across the bartop, struggling slightly as his height deters him momentarily, and grabs a marker. He hitches his sleeve up, and hands Harry the pen.

Harry marvels at the broken rope tattoo suddenly visible and the birds flying free just above that. He writes his number as legibly as he can, not wanting any excuse to be made for not keeping in contact with this man that could possibly have some potential of being his soulmate.

He wants to continue this conversation, wants to speak of it for an eternity instead of this short-lived time in the sticky bar.  

“I’ll text you sometime.”

Harry smiles at Louis’ promise. “Sounds… good” Louis leaves halfway through Harry’s agreement, but Harry’s on cloud nine, dancing in the shadows of all that have loved before him, and he doesn’t have a bone in his body that would be content to be upset.

Later that night when Harry’s helping a drunken Niall up the stairs, a text chimes in.

 _Goodnight :)_ ****

Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face.

♬

Harry hasn’t set his phone down for days, it seems. Every time he loses his grip on the technology, another message from Louis chimes in and Harry’s heart is loath to miss the opportunity to hear the poetic prose that flow from Louis’ fingertips.

Even if it is just a pun.

But anybody that knows Harry Styles knows how much he loves a pun. The fact that this man, this man that Harry still suspects _could_ be his soulmate, is hitting all of the cues in the script to Harry’s heart is nothing short of a beautiful miracle. Or, perhaps, it’s just further proof that they are soulmates.

Here’s where Harry’s confused. Louis had no reaction in finding out that _Stairway to Heaven_ is Harry’s favorite song. If they were absolutely, cosmically destined for each other, Harry likes to think that there’d have been a big moment of realization where Louis exploded in joy and Harry was so high on the feeling that he would’ve started floating above the ground.

But this isn’t Wonderland and Harry isn’t Alice. Some fairy tales just aren’t meant to come alive.

“Harry, could you please put your phone down for five minutes?”

“Hm?” Harry looks up from the message he’s typing out only to be met with Gemma’s sneer. They’re meant to be having their usual brunch together, but Harry physically cannot stop texting Louis. Every time he tries to leave a message unanswered it feels like porcelain cracks are cementing themselves to Harry’s heart.

It’s been a long time since he felt so fragile to someone else.

Gemma scoffs as Harry goes back to his phone. He only has one more sentence to type out, and he’d rather not leave Louis hanging with the ellipses and not follow through on sending anything. “I’ve been talking for the past twenty minutes and you’ve yet to say anything.”

“I was listening!”

Harry sends the message and puts his phone face down on the table. Gemma’s sitting thin-lipped across the table, irritation etched harshly across her face. “What was I saying, then?”

Harry grew up in a small town in Cheshire, but he always felt like he was made for bigger things. The very moment he had the chance to leave, he packed up his suitcase and took a train straight to London. It helped that Gemma was staying there as well and housed him as he looked for work.

When Harry was nineteen, Niall moved down to London as well, and together they got their own flat. It’s not quite living on their own, but their schedules are opposite enough that when they end up spending time together, they can act like best friends and not like roommates constantly growing tired of each other.

Gemma didn’t fare well with Harry moving out at first. He’s always been a bit naive, and she was dubious to let him live on his own in the big bad city. She parted with him only on the promise that once a month they’d meet for brunch so she could check up on him. Slowly that’s turned from her distrust of him into the two of them giving each other a little piece of home.

They no longer talk about whether Harry feels safe in his flat and if he’s coping well with being on his own. Now most of the conversation centers on whether or not he thinks Millie’s going to promote him at the bookshop and all of hijinks surrounding Gemma’s daughter.

That’s why Harry has no doubt in his mind about what Gemma was speaking of. “You were talking about Evelyn.”

“That’s cheating.” Gemma’s glaring him, portraying the role of a mother nearly too accurately. “I’m always talking about her.”

Harry’s phone vibrates on the table, and before Harry can do much more than glance at it, Gemma’s hand is shooting across the table and grabbing the offending object. There’s a victorious glow about her as she puts the phone under her leg and grins as though she’s won the gold medal in being an intrusive sibling.

“Gems, c’mon,” Harry moans. “That’s not fair.”

“Yes it is.” Gemma argues. She’s got her ‘big sister’ voice activated and it makes Harry want to scream. He was certain they’d gotten rid of these roles when Gemma gave birth. The voice shouldn’t be aimed at him any longer. “You and I are having lunch together, so I’d like you to be present.”

“I _am_ present!”

“Hardly.” Gemma scoffs and everything is oddly reminiscent of being a child and arguing with each other across the dinner table. Everything is a sepia-tinted memory. “You’ve been staring at your phone the entire time smiling like a maniac.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“That’s what’s sad, Haz. I’m not exaggerating at all.” She’s careful not to raise her voice too loud so not to attract the attention of other diners in the cafe. “You’ve got this manic grin on your face, and you keep laughing at your screen. It’s…”

She trails off and Harry’s left leaning forward in anticipation of what’s she’s saying. “It’s what?”

Gemma leans back in her seat and waits before answering Harry. Her arms slowly cross against her chest and her eyes narrow as if she’s studying every move Harry makes. “Have you met your soulmate?”

“What?” Harry’s a bit shocked, but realizes how he’s been acting all day. Her question isn’t completely unwarranted. “No.”

“Oh my God, you have.” Harry likes to think the spark in Gemma’s eyes and the dimples as deep as a canyon are what Harry looked like when Louis talked to him for the first time. “What’s their name?”

“There is no name because he’s not my soulmate.” At least, not that Harry knows of. He’s still unsure of everything between them and what could be.  

“Then what is he?” Gemma asks. “And why were you staring at your phone like you like him?”

“Because I _do_ like him.”

“But he’s not your soulmate.”

“I mean.” Harry pauses to consider what he’s about to say, but there’s not much that he _can_ say. There’s a complicated border surrounding everything about Louis and it has a thousand words carved into the wood of it. It’s not an easy task to explain Louis without all of his Louis-related internal struggle coming too. “He’s not, but also, he could be.”

Gemma sighs, and her eyes melt past their icy glare for a moment. Harry wants to take back the entire conversation instantly just to avoid the pity. “Harry…”

“No, listen.”

“Don’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Harry searches his mind for something - _anything_ \- to say that will justify his intensity towards Louis, that will show that Louis’s different from anybody else Harry may have confused for a soulmate or who could’ve been a stand in for one. “He came up to me after I sang _Stairway to Heaven_ at the bar.”

“And did he say ‘nice song, I have that tattooed on myself for my soulmate’?”

“Well no - ”

Gemma’s sharp voice cuts him off. “Did he act remotely like that song could be of _any_ significance to him whatsoever?”

“No, but - ”

 **“** Then that’s the end of that.” She has this skill of putting a tone of finality into every argument she makes, something that yields Harry’s comebacks of all their worth and makes him want to nod along and agree with whatever she says. “He isn’t your soulmate, so you shouldn’t waste your time. Delete his number, and forget about him.”

Harry can hear his phone vibrate under Gemma’s leg and he wants nothing more than to steal it back and continue talking to Louis. She won’t let that happen, though, Especially not after finding out Harry’s attachment to someone who possibly isn’t his soulmate. “He invited me out for dinner this weekend.”

“Tell him no.”

“Gems - ”

Gemma sighs. “Harry, you’re my little brother and I love you, but I’m not going to watch you grow attached to this guy just because he’s showing you a bit of attention. He’s just going to hurt you.”

Harry stays silent, unsure of how to vocalize his infatuation to this man and how despite the chance of them being soulmates slim, he still wants to push the boundaries and see. There’s not anything in his vocabulary that’ll change Gemma’s mind.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry nods along, not believing his own words. “I’ll cancel our plans.”

“Good.” Gemma takes a moment to relax from her tense position and even removes Harry’s phone from under her leg. She puts it on the table and glares at Harry, silently telling him not to reach for it. The conversation is over and her word is final. “Now tell me about Niall. How’s he doing?”

♬

Harry was eighteen when he fell in love with Taylor.

She was a regular at the bookstore, always reading the sad romance novels without a happy ending and speaking of her hate for older music. Everything about her was a red flag, a sign that Harry shouldn’t approach her, that nothing good rested ahead on the road paved by Taylor Swift, but Harry drove down it without his headlights on.

She never showed Harry her soulmark, she said it didn’t define who she was or where she was going, and Harry respected that, but she made it very _very_ clear that she wasn’t Harry’s soulmate.

Taylor wanted to write the songs that other people had tattooed on them, she wanted to be the soundtrack for all of the cheesy romcoms, but she never wanted to be the star. Harry loved that about her, he thought. He loved that she wouldn’t let something as silly as a tattoo stop her from falling in love.

Only that’s not what was happening at all.

Over the course of their relationship and the angry breakup that followed, it became clear that Taylor was only looking for some inspiration for her music. She wasn’t with Harry because she liked him, they were together because he was easy for love, and she needed him to help her music along. The entire relationship was constructed of walls hiding her secrets, hiding that her love is made up - no, she _wanted_ the soulmarks to come between them, and she wanted it to hurt them both.

That’s not the last time somebody hurt Harry.

♬

Harry never cancelled on Louis. He tried, he really did, but the idea of telling Louis no, of saying that he _didn’t_ want to go for dinner with one of the greatest people he’s ever met, it all felt like too big of a lie to tell. Every word he typed felt like a cinch around his heart, squeezing until he gave in and erased them.

Sure, Gemma wouldn’t be happy with him, but on the bright side, his inability further supports Harry’s theory that Louis quite possibly _could_ be his soulmate. The very thought of not seeing him aches and burns in the worst way.

At least it’s something.

Harry’s just finishing up with his shift when the bell above the door dings and Louis comes into sight. He’s dressed far more casually than Harry had been expecting - he himself brought a change of clothes so he wouldn’t stick out at dinner - but really, the man would make a bin bag look great.

Louis looks around wide-eyed for a second before his line of sight fixes on Harry, and he’s wearing an effortless yet endlessly charming grin on his face.

Harry has to force himself to focus on his short line of customers before he can let one of his co-workers take over the register. It isn’t usually such a difficult task, but with Louis wandering the aisles of the books store, his fingers dancing across the spines of novels that Harry himself has spent hours upon hours falling in love with, he’s very distracted.

As Harry clocks out, he slips into the back office and changes out of his uniform - foregoing the blazer so as not to appear to be trying too hard with Louis - before he heads back out to find his date.

Louis’ standing in the highly-favored soulmate section when Harry finds him. Even the slightest possibility of Louis’ soul being forever linked to Harry’s own suddenly becomes the most important thing in his life.

 **“** Find anything you like?”

Louis jumps at the sound of Harry’s voice and fumbles the book in his hand. “You could say that.”

Harry can’t help the smile that dances across his face in the wake of Louis’ line. His cheeks are slowly warming and the moment is altogether an ephemeral beauty.

“So what are you doing in the soulmate section?” Harry asks because he doesn’t know how to be subtle. “Anything you’re looking for?”

Louis looks down at the book in his hand, but Harry can’t quite read the title of it. The word ‘ _music_ ’ stands out, but as it’s about soulmates, it’s not a surprise. “Are you still on the clock?”

“I’m always on the clock. Great literature never takes a break.” Harry’s shift is technically over but he’d restock a million books if it meant getting to enjoy such an intimate space with just himself and Louis.

“Well in that case, I’m not looking for anything specific.” Behind himself, Louis puts the book back on the shelf. His body is keeping Harry from reading the title, and Harry suspects that was his intention. “I just know that soulmate fiction has the best stories.”

“Non-fiction.”

“Sorry?”

“Soulmate nonfiction has the best stories,” Harry clarifies his correction.

Louis’ head is tilted and he looks genuinely interested in Harry’s nonsense literature jargon. “What’s the difference?”

Harry doesn’t answer at first. He gives himself time to think his words over, wanting to phrase it correctly. “Fiction is what you see in the movies. The over translated, repetitive tropes used to reel in young viewership. Things like the main character lying about their favorite song because they don’t think they’re good enough for their soulmate, and menial fights that threaten an entire relationship. That kind of stuff.”

Louis’ nodding along and inching closer with every word. Harry has to bite his lips as to not to misread the situation. “And why is nonfiction better?”

“Because it’s real,” he answers. His voice has started quieting, getting lower with the smaller space they’re occupying. “It’s the stories of our parents and our friends. Finding a soulmate in your best friend. Pinpointing your favorite song and discovering it written on the arm of your one true love. It’s learning to love a terrible song because your soulmate loves it. It’s the small fights about which song you’ll dance to at your wedding and wanting nothing more than to spend every waking morning with the person you love just because you love them. It’s real and no hallmark story can compete.”

Harry’s always fancied himself a character in fiction. He doesn’t hate his soulmate or want to live in solitude to avoid meeting them, but he holds the slightest contempt for their taste, for the fact that their image will never fit in with the soft atmosphere Harry surrounds himself with. There’s bound to be a lot of compromise when they meet each other, and Harry’s more than willing to comply, but it seems like there’ll be more of an adjustment than usual soulmates.

It doesn’t feel real.

“I take it this is something you’re passionate about, then?” Louis’ backed up a bit now that Harry’s done explaining, and he just hopes his disappointment isn’t too prevalent on his face.

“It’s my work, Louis,” Harry grins. “Of course I’m passionate about it.”

It’s not his work that gives him passion, it’s the burning need to meet his soulmate. He looks to the books because he needs to know that they’ll mold together perfectly, that their distinct differences in taste won’t be a sinking ship dragging their relationship below the surface.

Harry wants to take Louis swimming. He wants to expose his body, get him out of those long sleeves, and find his soulmark.

He needs to know if it says _Stairway to Heaven_.

“You hungry?” Louis asks, prompting Harry’s stomach to growl at just the perfect moment.

“Starving.”

“Let’s see if we can’t get you something to eat then.”

There are many signs that Louis isn’t his soulmate. His blatant indifference to Harry’s favorite song, and the way he doesn’t react to any of Harry’s sly mentions of soulmates are just the beginning in an immeasurable line of warnings that, again,  Harry’s walking down a dead end road with no return point.

Harry chooses to ignore those though, because after all, there’s no solid evidence that he’s not.

Harry chooses to ignore them because being with Louis makes everything seem brighter - colors are sharper and he feels more awake than he’s ever felt in his entire life. Even walking down Frith Street, a street Harry walks down every day of his life, feels like skating across a rainbow. One day, when it comes out that they _are_ soulmates, Harry’s going to be saying these things out loud, writing them down on various spaces on Louis’ body, just as a reminder of how much they mean to each other. He can’t use them all now.

“I was thinking we could eat at Gauthier,” Harry suggests. He’d been thinking about the French restaurant since the very moment Louis invited him out. The dark atmosphere is perfect for dates, and Harry sincerely hopes that this is a date. “It usually doesn’t get too crowded for a few hours, so we should be able to get a nice seat.”

Louis doesn’t respond immediately, and Harry spares a glance at him only to see him cringing. Harry believes he may have misread something. “I’m not really dressed for a higher end place. I was thinking we could hit Poppie’s or another small diner. Just so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. This clearly isn’t a date, not if Louis just wants to go to a diner. He’s wearing a sweatshirt for goodness sake.

Louis takes Harry’s silence as the displeasure as it is. “I hope that’s alright.”

“No, yeah,” Harry shakes his head. He’s upset, sure, but he doesn’t want that to ruin the evening. Even if they’re only hanging out as friends at least they’re together. “That’s totally fine. I was just really looking forward to a raspberry macaroon.”

“That definitely doesn’t surprise me.” Louis laughs gently, and the sound alone lifts Harry’s spirit enough to allow a smile.

Harry’s perturbed at the change of plans, at the idea that Louis doesn’t see this as a date and that the soulmate theory might not be as close or as likely as Harry’s been expecting. Louis’ interest in a casual diner as opposed to a wine and dine restaurant is adorable, Harry will admit, the idea of Louis in the fluorescent lighting enjoying a milkshake and half-priced fries is something out of an American indie movie, and Harry’s glad he’ll be able to witness it firsthand, but the sadness of not being able to pull Louis’ chair out for him and feed him overpriced starters just narrowly overshadows that.

They turn down Old Compton Street, and the joyous sound from the bars create a fitting soundtrack for their walk.

When they arrive at the diner, there’s no wait, meaning Harry gets to sit across from Louis and enjoy the beautiful view more quickly than they would’ve been able at Gauthier. Harry’s trying to think in positives.

He jokes about a senior citizens menu when their waitress comes by and even though the conversation never stops moving and Harry doesn’t think the smile will ever leave his face, they don’t talk about music or soulmates even once.

For some reason, Harry feels like he lost something.

♬

 _Highway to Hell_ is halfway through when Harry walks into the grocery store. It makes his heart jump in his chest as he struggles to stay afoot.

He’s aware of the old wive’s tale saying whenever your soulmate’s song plays, they’re in the near vicinity, but that’s only a myth. If Harry’s soulmate was near every time _Highway to Hell_ played then Harry should’ve met them a long, long time ago. He knows that the song playing is nothing more than a coincidence, but it still knocks Harry on his arse whenever he hears it.

He can’t help but let the word ‘fate’ come to mind. It’s Niall’s week to go grocery shopping, but he’s working late, and Harry had nothing better to do, so he volunteered to pick a few things up. The fact that Niall should be the one here while _Highway to Hell_ is blasting over the speakers only serves to make Harry believe this could be kismet.

But that might be wishful thinking.

The song is well over and Harry’s getting ready to approach the register when he runs into the only person that’s been on his mind these past few weeks.  

Louis’ dressed head-to-toe in sweats and he has a bottle of wine balanced nicely in his arms. Harry wants to do despicable things to him.

 **“** Harry, hey.” Louis’ face is open and earnest, and Harry lives for the genuine happiness he seems to have when he’s with Harry. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Fancy it is. Especially when you’ve got wine, and I’ve - “ Harry stops taking when he glances down to his shopping basket and sees just how embarrassing his dinner is.

Louis follows his gaze and laughs upon seeing the contents. “And you’ve a basket full of personal pizzas.”

“I can explain.”

“No need.” There’s always an aura about Louis that makes his smile seem completely unflappable, like a words of inconsistency could be reshaping his world as he knows it, but he’ll still be standing with a permanent grin etched gracefully across his face. “I like your style. It’s the kind of cooking I do for myself.”

“You mean you don’t have all your grandchildren cooking for you?” Harry basks in the joy Louis expresses at the joke.

“Another old age joke?” Louis’ smirking, a cocky grin of a thing, and Harry’s thrown back into the indigo pool of emotions that remind just how much he likes Louis. How easy it would be for Harry to _love_ him. “Is that going to be your thing? You make fun of my age while your other jokes get less and less funny?”

“You’ll still laugh at them, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

Harry’s resulting grin is bashful. He can’t stop the blush from climbing up his neck and into his cheeks, not when Louis says such sweet things without even a trace of irony.

Harry about jumps out of his skin when right past his shoulder, a body comes running up to them. “Lou, I can’t find the camembert.”

“It’s on aisle four,” Harry answers automatically.

“Thank you.” The man turns and Harry instantly recognizes him as Louis’ friend - the one that stole Louis away from him at the bar that first night. “Oh, hello. You look familiar.”

“Harry, you remember Liam?” Louis gestures between the two of them, the wine bottle hanging delicately between his fingers, swinging with the movements. “Liam, this is Harry. From the bar.”

“New friend Harry?” Liam asks.

“Good friend Harry.”

“Stairway to Heaven Harry?”

Liam remembers him from his _song_ . This is the best new Harry’s heard all day. If Harry’s identifier is _Stairway to Heaven_ , then that must mean that’s how Louis describes him. The song is important to Louis, important enough that he feels to need to bring it up to Liam, his apparently close friend that he goes to bars and grocery stores with.

Harry feels like he’s on the edge of the moon, watching everyone live their mundane lives as he flies high in the aftermath of more proof that Louis could be his soulmate.

“Exactly,” Louis confirms, his grin an eclipse of any other expression that he’s ever held. “This is the bloke that sang a ten minute karaoke song in public with no regard for anyone else.”

Harry’s heart sinks. Liam didn’t know the song because Louis talks about it often; he know the song because Harry’s selfish arse sang it for eight goddamn minutes.

“Hey,” he protests weakly. He wants to keep himself moving so as to not alert Louis or Liam just how upset he is that his golden beacon of light flickered out. “It’s a good song.”

Louis nods in agreement. “A great song.”

“My favorite song.”

“Hm…”

Harry does his best to smile along, but he knows it comes off as bitter as he is. All he wants from Louis is a reaction, a straightforward answer, _something_ other than the vague humming he gets whenever his favorite song is brought up.

The part that infuriates Harry the most is that Louis won’t even mention his own favorite song. If he would take five minutes to enthuse about Johnny Cash or Celine Dion, Harry would be able to know for sure and move on, but this constant disregard and lack of a reaction is going to drive Harry to the edge of the Earth and never push him over.

Liam jumps suddenly, startling Harry out of his own head. “Hey you should invite him to the party,” he says excitedly.

“There’s a party?” Harry asks.

“There is.” Louis’ standing adjacent to Harry, a teasing grin on his face as he goes back and forth with the banter.

“I love parties.”

Liam laughs brightly from Harry’s other side, not sensing the playful tension between them. “You’ll love ours then. It’s a costume party.”

“I love costume parties.”

Louis nudges his shoulder, stealing Harry’s attention from where he was looking at Liam. “Then you should come.”

Hearing the invite from Louis is what makes Harry excited to go. Liam’s lovely and all, but having Louis dole out an invitation suddenly inspires Harry in a thousand different ways.

“I should,” Harry accepts, unable to keep his delight from showing. “When is it?”

“When else, love?” Louis asks, the sharpness of his grin adding a bit of a haunted feel to his words. “Halloween.”

Louis and Liam take off to buy their camembert and Harry makes his way up to the register to pay for dinner. Harry spends his walk home contemplating why the universe keeps giving him glimpses of proof that Louis’ his soulmate, but never following through with an actual revelation. There’s all this lead up, but he’ll never hit that epiphany where Harry suddenly just _knows_.

Running into Louis at the grocery store, seeing the man of his dreams holding a bottle of wine dressed in comfortable, cozy, _cuddling_ , apparel, all after hearing _Highway to Hell_ … Harry wants to call it fate, but he knows better.

It’s serendipity.

♬

 **“** This is something I didn’t miss about my twenties.”

They’re out discovering the London nightlife, much to Louis’ displeasure. Harry wanted to be out and about and in the world and Niall didn’t want to join in.

Harry prefers Louis’ company anyway.

Louis clearly isn’t excited by the amount of strangers bumping into him on the street, but Harry loves being a part of the masses, blending in and being just another face in the crowd. Especially if he does so alongside Louis - he makes everything better.

“You’re twenty-six,” Harry argues. “You can’t throwback to an age you still are.”

Louis scoffs, his arm swinging harshly as he dramatically pulls himself away from Harry. “You can’t call me old and then be mad when I do the same thing.”

“Sure I can.”

Walking down Kingly Street, no matter the time of year, feels like a breeze in June, gentle and refreshing. It takes away the heat of the real world and brings complete and utter comfort. Simply making their way through the crowded street makes Harry want nothing more than to make the moment last forever, to bask in the tranquility and prolong the feeling of absolute contentment.

Harry steadfastly ignores the way that every few paces, Louis’ pinky will hit Harry’s wrist or graze his thumb. The urge to hold his hand is overwhelming and Harry’s near shaking with the restraint to keep him from doing so. “What are you going to do when you turn thirty?”

“Shrivel up and die,” Louis jokes, his tones taking a far more theatrical twist than usual. “I bite my thumb at the idea that I’ll ever be content to be _old_.”  

“Really?” Harry slows his gait, side-eyeing Louis in shock. “You don’t have dreams of growing old with your soulmate?”

Louis smiles, but it looks private, a gentle beautiful, intimate smile that Harry can’t bare to look at. He feels guilty catching even the small glance he _did_ see. “Well of course I do. My heart isn’t actually _stone_ , you know.”

“Well that’s good news.” Harry tries to add a teasing edge to his voice, something to keep the conversation light and playful. He doesn’t want to show just how much Louis’ goddamn smile can melt him into a lovesick puddle. “Sometimes I wonder, you know? You’re often so cold and callous that I doubt you’ve any heart at all.”

“You do not,” Louis squawks, reaching a hand to shove Harry’s shoulder lightly, not hard enough to send him careening into other pedestrians on the pavement, just enough to make his displeasure in Harry’s joke clear. “I’m perfectly wonderful all the time. I’m a blessing to have around.”

“I’m not too sure about that.”

Harry’s very sure about that.

They start to walk into an area that’s far more clustered, where all of the restaurants keep their doors open and the lines flood out of them and take up half the pavement. Louis huddles in closer and Harry hopes the crowd is loud enough to tune out the sound of his excited heart.

“Are you hungry?” Louis asks as they’re squeezing through the minimal available space. “You want a slice of pizza?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah.” Harry quickly agrees and allows Louis to pull him to a stop in one of the lines. “Let me buy this time though.”

Louis sighs, and Harry slyly smiles at the way Louis takes care of him. “Harry, really, it’s no trouble. You’re working part-time and living in London. I can take care of this.”

“Louis, it’s seven pounds.” Harry feels a bit ridiculous fighting over which one of them will pay for the food from the small pizzeria, but the idea that _this_ is the fight they’re having is beautiful. It’s so simple and it shows that they both care about each other. Harry can’t stop smiling. “I’m not going to go bankrupt from a few slices of pizza.”

He wants to pay. He wants to be an equal to Louis in their endeavors and pay for some aspects of their dates. Because even if Louis doesn’t know, or if he does but doesn’t explicitly state that he knows, these are dates.

They _have_ to be. Harry’s put in too much effort for it not to count.

“You know that’s not what I meant - ”

“If it means that much to you,” Harry cuts him off, sighing melodramatically, making it clear that he’s only joking and that Louis isn’t truly upsetting him. “You can buy me a record.”

“A record?”

“Yes, Louis, a record.” Harry has to hold in his laughter at Louis’ outrage at a simple word. “It’s like a CD only bigger.”

“I know what a record is.” The line moves forward and Louis nestles in closer to Harry. Their arms are touching from top to bottom, and Harry’s suddenly hot all over. “I just assumed that nobody listened to those things anymore.”

Harry has to scour his brain for what to say, for something that won’t reveal just how affected he is by Louis’ proximity. “Well you assumed wrong, grandpa. Nothing makes your favorite song sound better than hearing it on vinyl.”

“I suppose you might be right.”

“Might be?”

Louis doesn’t answer his question. They move forward in the line, still sharing in body heat. Louis angles his head to speak closer to Harry’s ear. “Does that mean I’m correct to assume that you’ve Stairway to Heaven on vinyl then.”

“Of course I do.” Hearing Louis mention the song while his warm breath hits Harry’s skin is almost too much. “You remember my favorite song?”

Every time Louis mentions _Stairway to Heaven_ , Harry heart beats in time to its melody. Of course he knows Louis remembers his favorite song, especially when Harry can’t stop bringing it up. Whenever Louis’ in the close vicinity, Harry all but recites the lyrics for him.

“How could I forget?” Louis laughs, separating himself from Harry slightly. He’s immediately cold. “You sang the damn thing for like ten minutes at a karaoke bar.”

Harry’s bottom lip juts out. “It’s only eight minutes.”

“It’s still far too long, love.”

When they get to the front of the line, Harry slides his cash across the thin counter before Louis can even step forward. As he’s ordering the pizza he can hear Louis laughing in the background. The two eat their pizza as they walk down the street, stopping in front of the record shop before their food is all eaten.

Once all their pizza is gone and their rubbish is disposed of, they head inside, immediately greeted with classic rock playing and an assault of color.

“ _This_ is what I remember from my twenties,” Louis comments as they step inside. His voice is coated with amazement and the lights beyond his eyes shine brighter.

Harry tries to occupy himself with more banter. One of these days he’ll run out of things to tease Louis about and he’ll be forced to break down and cry about Louis and how the man’s existence is enough to forgive the world of all it’s troubles. Already, on the average day, he’s one taunt away from tears, all because of this alluring, magnanimous man. “Yeah? All those years ago?”

Harry often wonders if Louis has the same problem he has, if being in the mere presence of Harry is enough to render him silent. If the way he laughs or the way the light hits his eyes just right is something of modern art for him. Harry wonders if Louis is ever awestruck by Harry, if his work during the day lacks finesse because his mind is too preoccupied thinking of the other, images of him wrapped in a cerulean glow, his skin bathing in sunlight - a perfect picture no other human could ever emulate.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“Yes, exactly.” Louis nods. “Now which record am I buying you?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll look around a bit.”

Harry breaks away and walks towards the bins against the wall away from the more crowded areas in the center of the store. Louis trots alongside him “And what will I do?”

Harry gestures to the empty space on his left, but Louis doesn’t move. “You can look with me, you know,” he offers, chuckling throughout his words at the blankness on Louis’ face. “You don’t have to sit and keep watch.”

Louis shrugs and joins Harry at the basin, browsing through the different records on sale. Harry’s once again struck by just how seamlessly they fit together. Even when they’re quiet, putting all their energy into perusing the albums, Harry feels just as in love with the moment as he does when they’re talking and teasing. There isn’t a scenario in which he can see them clashing.

The shop is bustling, full of customers and loiterers, London residents looking for albums, looking for warmth, looking for their soulmate - the store is full, and they can hear voices singing songs in the street, but Harry only feels Louis’ presence. He could find Louis in the middle of Times Square going only off of intuition and following his heart.

It's inevitable everything that's good comes to an end, and it happens in the midst of looking around, when the speaker fizzles. Suddenly,  _Highway to Hell_ is blasting loudly throughout the store. Harry feels exhausted before the singing has even started. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Louis laughs, boisterous and lovely at Harry’s clear distaste. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Harry denies his anger, not wanting to delve into it, to go any deeper. The thing is, he doesn’t want to offend Louis. If there’s any chance whatsoever that Louis is his soulmate, he doesn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot. He wants to disregard his previous outburst completely.

“Truly, Harry.” Louis’ voice drops the joking edge to it that’s usually there around Harry. “You sounded really upset. You can share with me.”

Harry’s silent for a minute before taking a deep breath. “I’m going to love my soulmate no matter what, you need to know that,” he explains, looking deep into Louis’ suddenly wide eyes to make sure the other man understands. “I don’t think I have it in me to hate them, but I absolutely loathe their taste in music.”

Louis laughs, giggles really, and Harry wants to scream, he wants to yell to the world about how completely unhumorous it is that his soulmate is so completely different from him. That out of all the uncertain, capricious things in the universe, the one thing that stays true to itself is the clashing tastes of Harry and his soulmate.

He doesn’t though. He reigns it in, giving Louis his moment to get the laughter out. He lets the stars dance in Louis’ blue eyes.

“It’s not funny,” Harry argues after giving Louis his time. “You know me, Louis. I’m the type of guy that likes soft things and easy listening. This song is not anything I’m interested in.”

Harry can see Louis’ curious gaze out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps his attention resolutely on the albums in front of him. However Louis reacts… it could make or break their future together. “I take it this is your soulmate’s favorite song then?”

“Yes.” his voice comes out in a croak, but he can’t be embarrassed, not when all he can focus on is where the conversation could quite possibly lead him. “And it’s written in _chicken scratch_ on my shoulder. There’s nothing delicate about it.”

“And you’re mad about that?” Louis’ tone doesn’t give anything away and Harry’s stuck in quiet contemplation.

“I’m not _mad_ , I’m just annoyed,” Harry answers honestly. “I have this aesthetic and everything I own fits it, but how is my soulmate supposed to fit into that when they’re wearing a leather jacket and driving a motorcycle down the highway to Hell?”

Louis’ quiet, the other customers are quiet, and suddenly _Highway to Hell_ is the loudest sound in the world and Harry can feel everything it’s saying throughout his entire body.

Louis finally takes a deep breath and Harry prepares himself for what Louis has to say. “I think you’ll work it out. They’re made to fit you perfectly, so when you meet them, it’ll all work out. You just have to have faith, love.”

When you meet them.

 _When_.

That means Harry hasn’t met his soulmate yet.

Louis isn’t his soulmate. And Harry is devastated.

It feels like someone took black paint and poured it atop every colorful, beautiful thing in his life. All of the brightness and joy has been pulled out through each pore of his body, there’s not one emotion remaining unplucked, and he’s left a brittle, fragile husk of a man.

He and Louis, despite being so perfect for each other, aren’t soulmates.

“You alright, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers automatically. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He feels betrayed by the pain, feels betrayed by the concern in Louis’ voice. Nothing is the way it should be and Harry’s hurt.

“You pick a record you want?” Louis asks . He’s far more subdued now, and Harry would guess that he can sense the somber mood Harry’s suddenly been put into.

Harry pulls a random one up, not paying attention to what it is. It doesn’t matter anyway, not when his life is over.

No music will ever sound the same again.

“Can do,” Louis cheers, swiping the anonymous record out of Harry’s hand. “Let’s buy this and get you home before it’s too late.”

It doesn’t matter how late it gets. Not when Harry’s too numb to feel anything.

♬

Harry was twenty-one when he fell in love with Nick.

The man was nine years his senior and far more experienced when it came to the real world. He was full of knowledge that he loved to share, and Harry was nothing if not eager to learn.  

They definitely weren’t soulmates. Nick was a pastel type of person. His favorite song was _Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls and his wardrobe consisted of patterns and soft colors. They were much too alike and no amount of similar interests could be the glue that held them together, especially when Harry had a soulmark that screamed every time Nick so much as mentioned music.

They weren’t together for very long and everything ended amicably, but when they were together, Harry was granted a glimpse of a life in which his soulmate was just the same as him. When they inevitably ended, Harry was just as hurt as he was with every other relationship.

It was the first time he thought he may never find his soulmate, and try as he might to rid the doubt from his head, he still believes it may be true.

♬

Harry goes to the Halloween party. There were a few days of contemplation where he flipped back and forth trying to decide which would be best for his heart, but ultimately, it was his decision that he should go.

Niall may have also yelled at him to get his head out of his arse and go.

Though Louis most definitely is _not_ his soulmate, there was flirting. There was an abundance of flirting, and Louis is most definitely into Harry. Harry’s never been one to shy away from dating someone that isn’t his soulmate. He loves love and a simple soulmark won’t stop him from pursuing other options.

Harry’s a bit of a one-trick pony when it comes to Halloween. Ever since he was twelve years old and heard his favorite song on the radio, he’s insisted every year to dress as an angel. Wings, halo, and all.

It started when he was twelve and wanted to incorporate his favorite song into his life in every way imaginable. He had Led Zeppelin posters lining his walls and always made sure his white and lavender pillows were fluffed to emulate the clouds surrounding heaven. It’s normal, his mum always reassured him. Many want to feel closer to their song, especially because there’s such a significance behind the music.

As Harry got older, he continued to dress as an angel every Halloween as way to embrace soulmate culture. There was a bit of malice for his _Highway to Hell_ counterpart included as well, but he tried not to let that show.

Now he does it out of tradition. It’s become  habit to put on the wings every October. Regardless of whether or not he has any plans, the halo makes an appearance every autumn.

Harry has a plan to romance Louis. There was obvious chemistry between them, something Harry couldn’t have imagined. Each moment they spent together was peaceful and wonderful. It felt like dewdrops on a rose petal - unmoving, sweet, and full of wonder. Harry knows there was something between them.

He doesn’t have a complete plan, there aren’t steps written out and a grand scheme of things that ends with the two of them driving into the sunset, hands held tightly over the center console, their silhouettes dark yet lively as they fall in love against all odds.

He doesn’t have a plan that large. He’s only thought of two things. The first being that he and Louis are something special, and the fact that they aren’t soulmates has to be a mistake. The second being that nothing is going to stand in the way of them. He doesn’t have a step-by-step guide of how to go about things, but he has his heart, and his heart _knows_ that everything is going to work out.

It has to.

“Is that Stairway Harry?” Harry startles when Liam pops in front of him only a few short minutes after entering the party.

“Hey Liam,” Harry greets, trying to ignore the amusement darting across Liam’s features. “Is Louis around here?”

“Yeah he should be.” Liam’s response sounds distracted and the corner of his mouth is ticking up. Harry feels like he’s missing out on some inside joke. “Nice costume.”

Harry’s not sure if Liam’s being honest with his compliment or if it’s meant to be mocking, but Harry doesn’t care. It’s tradition and Harry loves it. “Thank you. I wear it every year.”

Liam nods, his eye not yielding in their exploration of Harry’s costume. “Does Louis know about this?”

“I don’t see why he would.”

“Hm…”

“What?” Harry asks immediately, not sure what to make of Liam’s reply or the way his gaze seems to be returning to the halo perched effortless upon Harry’s curls. “Why are you hmming?”

Liam drags his eyes back to Harry’s face as slowly as help. “No reason,” he answers, a cryptic grin on his face. “Enjoy the party, Harry.”

Liam wonders off into the crowd, greeting different party guests as he goes, and Harry’s left standing in the middle of a sea of different characters. He can tell who the soulmates are. It’s not a difficult task when Minnie and Mickey are grinding on the dance floor or Thelma and Louise are playing beer pong together.

Harry usually would be sad about that, about being the lone angel in the middle of all this love, but he’s here for a reason. He’s here for Louis, and despite the two of them not being soulmates, Harry knows that one day, they can be on the level with these pairs.

But first he has to find Louis.

Harry wanders around the party, trying to locate Louis, but unsure of how to find him. He doesn’t know what he’s dressed as, so it’s a confusing and difficult task. He almost runs into Liam, but turns away quickly, not wanting to experience another moment of the weirdness from before.

He’s walked the grounds of the party twice, no positive results coming from his quest, so he grabs himself a seat in the living room against the wall, and waits, hoping that Louis will locate Harry eventually.

He’s stood up, about to do another lap, when to his right, he’s greeted with, “Trick or treat!”

Harry knows that voice, has become quite familiar with it these past few weeks, and turns around excitedly.

“Hey - ”

He’s cut off by the sight of Louis. Standing there, a couple inches shorter than Harry but still standing tall, is Louis - _his_ Louis - in a bright red costume.

Head to toe, impeccably dressed, is the devil. There’s a burgundy trident in his hand and horns resting atop the fluffy mess that is his hair. His maroon skinny jeans and matching sweater go perfectly with his mischievous smile and squinting eyes, completing the evil look in its entirety. Honestly - Louis looks like the embodiment of every single one of Harry’s wet dreams.

But that’s not what shocks him speechless.

Harry’s dressed as an angel, an homage to his favorite song. Louis is a devil, something that could easily be referencing _Highway to Hell_. Something that could easily tear Harry’s heart to shreds.

“Nice costume.” Harry’s voice cracks halfway through his short sentence when his brain finally gets moving.

“Thank you. You look lovely as well.” Louis’ smile is pointed, his teeth showing subtly. Harry could melt under the heat of his gaze.

“I’m uh… I’m an angel.”

“You are,” Louis laughs. “I guess you could say we go together.”

“Yeah.”

Louis is dressed as his counterpart. They’re opposites, and Louis is playing the part.

Where Harry is lanky and graceless, Louis is compact and lithe. Harry's soft taste in life is only rivaled by the edges Louis expresses interest in. They're vastly different, polar opposites. The fact that they fit so well together isn't a surprise at all. It makes sense.

They make sense.

The fact that they aren’t soulmates is a goddamn tragedy.

“Can I get you a drink?” Louis asks after noticing Harry’s odd reaction and following silence. “You look parched.”

“Yes.” Harry nods eagerly. “Please.”

It’s a tease, is what it is, to see Louis as a devil when they aren’t soulmates. It’s as though the universe is mocking him, standing at the top of the world, looking down on him, and wondering just how far it can push him before it’s too far.

It’s all a prank, it _has_ to be. Just when Harry thinks he can forget about them not being soulmates, that they can move past it and fall in love in spite of what’s written on their bodies, _this_ gets thrown at him. This is a cruel joke that he’s over.

He’s _sick_ of the games being thrown at him. He just wants to be in love.

Harry lets himself get completely and utterly obliterated. He doesn’t need Niall’s permission for this one.

♬

Harry’s halfway through his shift when the universe decides to fuck with him next.

He’s been stocking shelves all day, nobody stopping in on such a dreary Monday afternoon. They’ve just gotten a new shipment of dystopian fiction, and Harry’s been wanting to get them out on a nice display since the order went out about a month ago.

There’ve been some walk-ins that Harry’s made nice with and tried to help find books, but they ultimately left without buying anything.

A customer actually does end up buying something towards midday, and Harry helps ring her up. He’s so caught up in conversation that he doesn’t hear the bell over the door ring, and it’s only when the customer leaves, purchases in hand, that Harry realizes there’s another person in the store.

A book slams down on the counter, and Harry doesn’t even catch the title, too caught up with the _who_ of the situation. “Hey, Louis,” Harry greets, accidentally letting all of his confusion and curiosity slip out in his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, well something happened a little bit ago,” Louis starts, joy etched all over his face, showing it’s presence through his subtle bouncing, “and I’m not quite sure how to deal with it.”

Harry can’t help but grin at his excitement. “That’s very ominous. Is everything alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis waves him off, and his gaze keeps dropping down to his book. “Absolutely. I just remember you saying something about the soulmate literature section here, so I thought I’d try my luck.”

He casually slides the book across the counter and Harry reads the title “ _So You Found Your Soulmate! Now What?_ ” His heart clenches.

“Oh…” Harry’s so caught up in the meaning, so caught up with the fact that Louis found his soulmate - somebody who _isn’t_ Harry - that he can’t reign in his complete sadness. Every plan he’s had of wooing Louis and them being together against all odds - it’s all tarnished. Their chance at loving each other is ruined. “Congratulations.”

“Right.”  

Harry rings up the book silently, trapped by his thoughts. The idea that Louis’ met his soulmate, and that person is decidedly _not_ Harry, it all hurts so much.

Harry feels like he should be angry or jealous, but now he’s just… sad.

Louis hands his card to Harry, and he must sense Harry’s upset judging by the frown on his face. “Thanks Harry.”

“Have a good one - ”

“You too, Harry.”

Harry’s suddenly angry when Louis walks out of the store, bag in hand. He _has_ to know Harry’s feelings about him, and throwing his own soulmate status in Harry’s face is unfair.

And for the universe to let Harry so close to Louis only to take him away is just north of cruel.

Harry wants to be happy for Louis.

He’s not.

♬

The hurt of Louis not being his soulmate still aches everyday. From the moment he awakes until he falls asleep at night, there’s a burn in his chest that’s only soothed by Louis’ proximity.

Harry’s unsure of how to move on. He was always of the idea that as long as he has Louis, his own soulmate wouldn’t matter. That _Highway to Hell_ would be fine without him, and Harry himself would live a life of limerence with his one true love.

He never put into account the unimaginable scenario in which Louis found his own soulmate.

Louis doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with it either, is the cruel twist of it. Things go on as usual, Harry and Louis still spend all of their free time together and every minute of it makes Harry feel like he’s flying, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice that him finding his soulmate is tearing Harry up inside.

Every previous belief Harry had of living happily and defying the odds together have broken into a thousand pieces. Saying “fuck it” to societal stigma and growing old together in spite of their own soulmarks is now a fragile, porcelain dream in the hands of a man with no grip.

Despite all of this, despite their being no chance of the two of them living out a brass dream together, Harry still can’t stay away. His time is consumed with thoughts of Louis. There isn’t a moment in the day in which Harry’s occupied without _some_ sort of Louis-shaped hole in his heart.

The problem he has is that Louis’ _magnetic_. He draws Harry in hook, line, and sinker so easily. There’s nothing about Louis that Harry hasn’t been a fool for.

His eyes are a thousand stars and his smile is the sun. There’s a symphony in his laugh, and he bathes in the moonlight. Harry would hold fire in his hand for a chance at being with Louis for even a day.

Harry’s easy for love - that’s not news - but for Louis? Harry would walk across land and sea for days, searching for even the smallest piece of hope that Louis loves him the same way.

Because that’s what this is - love. And Harry’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

The downfall of Harry, the one thing that’s going to make putting up with this distance between them is Louis’ kindness. Harry can pine, he’s great at it, but Louis still being as close and lovely and _kind_ as usual is going to spell disaster for Harry.

He always puts Harry first. When they go on their now-realized _not_ dates, Louis always insists on paying, and even when Harry manages to pay, Louis always finds a way to make it up. He knows Harry’s taste, understands what he likes, and never fails to remind Harry of that by ordering him a perfect drink or sending him music recommendations. And when they hang out after the tube stops running, he drives Harry home.

Even when Harry’s wasted.

“You’re a really great guy, Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry’s currently slouched in Louis’ passenger seat as music plays over the stereo. Harry knows he’ll regret everything he’s saying come morning, but right now, it’s imperative that he informs Louis of just how wonderful he is.

“Thank you, Harry Styles.” Louis clearly finds amusement in Harry expression of admiration, but Harry doesn’t care. As long as that bright smile is in his line of sight, everything is okay. “Are you perhaps a bit drunk?”

“Perhaps,” Harry agrees, grinning so wide that he can feel his dimples pop. “It’s so hard to say no to drinks, don’t you agree?”

“It gets easier when you get older.”

Harry scoffs, turning to look out of his window in what feels like a protest for Louis’ words. “Please, you’re hardly old at all.”

Louis laughs, but Harry still doesn’t turn. “You go back and forth a lot on this, Harry, and I’m sick of the confusion. Answer the question once and for all. Am I old or not?”

Harry sighs loudly, feeling more playful than he normally would after as many drinks as he’s had. He puts effort into sounding put out. “Obviously you aren’t old, Lou,” he says. “I don’t know any old man as hot as you are.”

Louis laughs and it’s boisterous and beautiful. Harry grins, far too enamoured to be embarrassed. He knows for certain he’s in love with Louis. It’s so easy to be, and all Harry wants is to show him just how strongly he feels.

He just wishes Louis would let him.

Harry soon finds himself falling asleep, lulled there by the quiet sounds of the road passing by as the music ebbs in the background. He’s awoken minutes later by the tinny strums of the guitar starting a new song. Harry recognizes it immediately, the syncopated pattern burned into Harry’s memory and onto his skin. Harry groans loudly, much to Louis’ amusement.  

“You really hate this song, don’t you?” He’s got that million dollar smile on his face and Harry wishes his own chagrin wasn’t the cause of it.

“Well clearly I don’t love it,” he rivals disdainfully. “Why is it even playing?”

“It’s a mixed CD I burned when I was younger.”

Harry scoffs. “Change it, please.”

“If you insist.” Harry watches Louis’ nimble fingers click “next” on the stereo and waits patiently for the next song to begin.

It’s difficult to hear at first, but as soon as the sound hits him, Harry immediately recognizes it. Echoing gently throughout the car is Harry’s favorite song. It feels like coming home, warm and calming, and reducing Harry to a languor state that, in any other situation, would have Harry drifting away.

Now, though - now he’s just confused. “Why is this song on there?” The placement of it is too much.

“You don’t own the rights to _Stairway to Heaven_ , love,” Louis jokes, not sensing Harry’s distress. “It’s public domain, and I happen to like the song too.”

“But it’s right after _Highway to Hell_.”

Louis nods, and Harry wonders how in such a situation he could be so calm. “Well I happen to think those songs go great together.”

Harry sighs. He knows just how goddamn well those songs fit together, and that’s why it hurts. “I guess.”

The ride is silent and Harry thinks about what a cosmic tease it is how close he is to belonging to Louis, but something stopped them. The puzzle is in place but it was cut wrong, and now they aren’t truly meant to be.

It’s unfair, and Harry wants to cry.

“We’re here.”

Harry looks out the window and sees that they’re parked on the edge of the road in front of Harry’s flat. The light is on, Harry can see through the balcony door. Niall must still be awake.  “Thank you, Louis. You’re a really great guy.”

“So I’ve been told.” Harry smiles sadly and starts to get out of the car, but Louis’ hand cupping his elbow stops him. “Are you alright? You’ve seemed a bit off tonight.”

“I’m alright,” Harry promises, lying through his teeth. “Just drank too much.”

Louis considers Harry for a moment, his grasp not letting up. “You sure?”

“I’m certain.” He’s not. He’s not sure, he’s not alright. He’s slowly breaking apart at the seams because all he wants is Louis and the universe bites its thumb at them. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Wednesday night.”

Harry nods, and gets out of the car when Louis releases Harry’s arm. He doesn’t stay to watch Louis drive away, just stumbles into the flat and to his room, ignoring Niall’s inquiring words. He plays _Highway to Hell_ on repeat as he goes to bed.

He dreams about Louis because the universe is a fucking prick.

♬

Harry doesn’t even sit down before he’s ordering himself two shots of tequila and downing them sooner than the bartender can set them on the countertop. He has a night of being surrounded by talks of soulmates, sitting right next to Louis, and knowing that his life isn’t anywhere close to where he wants it to be.

They’re at SoMa again, Niall’s idea. He thought it’d be sweet for them to meet up with Liam and Louis in the same place that Harry and Louis first met.

“It’s nostalgic… or something,” he’d said.

They’ve been at the bar for about an hour and Harry’s gone through four drinks and is definitely feeling it when Liam and Louis come squeezing through the crowd towards the booth.

“Sorry we’re late,” Liam winces through his apology. “There’s a line out the door all the way down the block.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Niall waves him off, standing up to greet both of their friends. “We had to keep seat poachers away from the booth, but it hasn’t been too tough.”

Harry’s feeling great, the alcohol is flowing through his veins and making everything much more pleasant than it usually would be. He doesn’t know what’s been wrong with him these past few weeks, but he’s become cynical. Tonight it feels nice to get rid of his toxic mindset and separate from the derogatory attitude he’s had recently.

After sitting for probably a moment too long, Harry slides out of the booth to let Louis in, the other man rubbing his knuckles across Harry’s forearm as he goes. Harry’s just loose enough from the drinks to be ready to throw caution to the wind and fall into Louis head first.

He controls himself.

“So how have things been?” Liam asks after they’ve settled into their seats a bit. “Catch me up on what I’ve missed this week.”

Niall gets to talking about his schoolwork and how difficult it is to juggle education and work in the heart of London, something Harry never had the chance to experience but doesn’t regret much.

Harry doesn’t focus enough on their conversation, all of his energy going into memorizing Louis’ profile, making sure that every line is permanently embedded in his head. When the truth about him being hopelessly in love with Louis and Louis _not_ feeling the same comes between their friendship, he wants to be able to look back and remember exactly how beautiful Louis is, remember why everything was worth it in the end.

For some reason, he can’t take his eyes off of Louis, and he can’t stop smiling. There’s something about the other man that just takes away Harry’s common sense and makes him wistful for a past he doesn’t have.

Louis notices, of course - it’s not like Harry’s exactly the king of subtlety - but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, only grins back, turning his body to face Harry. “Hey there, wine-o,” he greets. “Drunk already?”

“I’m just having a good time, Louis,” Harry replies snobbily, happy when none of his words slur together. “I don’t need labels to define me.”

“I totally respect that.” Louis’ arm wraps around the back of the booth, and for a moment Harry can imagine it’s wrapped around him. “I’m not a fan of labels either.”

“Then would you like to get not-drunk with me?”

Louis laughs, turning his head away from Harry with the sound of it. “I’d love to, but I’m certain if I start matching you drink for drink, I’ll regret it in the morning.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry promises, inching closer to Louis. “You’ll be having a great time with me. There’s nothing to regret.”

Louis grins, looking at Harry the same way he did their first night of meet, like he knows that everything he says is going to affect Harry, like he knows exactly what makes him tick. “Very true, love. Though if you drink much more, I’m afraid you’ll never be able to get on stage and sing _Stairway to Heaven_ , and I’m sure then _you’ll_ regret it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, _can’t_ say anything. Why would he sing the song for someone else when he could never love anyone as much as Louis?

“Oh,” Niall cuts in. “Harry doesn’t sing that every time.”

“You don’t?”

Harry shakes his head, suddenly not as into the conversation as he was moment ago. He used to _thrive_ on mentioning his favorite song, now it’s an instant mood killer.

“Do you really believe that I would let him on that stage every time we go out? We’d be banned from coming here.” Niall laughs, and Liam laughs, and Louis laughs, and Harry wants to sink into the ground.

“It’s odd that the one time we came here was one of the few times Harry sang it,” Liam brings up.

“Fate.”

“Not fate,” Harry argues, glaring at Louis for even suggesting that it might be. “Fortuity.”

Louis’ clearly upset by the words, his eyes lacking their usual shine and his mouth set in a frown that pains Harry to look at. He doesn’t care, though. Not when every day of his life is torture when he can’t have Louis. Them meeting wasn’t fate at all. It was an _accident_.

Sensing the somber mood on this side of the booth, Niall does what he’s good at and tried to bring everyone up again. “Hey Louis, why don’t you get on stage? Maybe your soulmate is here tonight.”

Of course, it doesn’t work.

“Already found my soulmate, bro.” Harry decidedly doesn’t look at Louis as he says this. He doesn’t want to see the smile on the face, doesn’t want to see his joy. He doesn’t want his words to be true. “Don’t need to sing.”

“Really, mate? That’s awesome.” Niall doesn’t keep his attention on Louis or his soulmate after that, something Harry’s grateful for. “Liam?”

“Found mine ages ago,” he brags. “I even married her.”

Harry had no clue Liam was married, but seeing the glow about him as he shows off his ring to the table, it’s not surprising. Some people are lucky enough to meet their soulmate young, able to spend their entire lives together. Liam’s one of those people and his face tells the magical story. It makes Harry angry.

“Why don’t you get up there Niall?” Louis offers, and Harry has to stifle his laugh.

“Don’t have one.”

“What?”

Liam and Louis are looking at Niall wide-eyed, and Harry would feel bad for his best friend, but he’s used to the reactions. He’s been getting them every day since he found out, but he’s settled with it now. “I don’t have a soulmate.”

“Do you not have a favorite song?” Louis asks.

“ _Desperado_.”

Liam laughs lightly and says, more to himself than anyone else, “I love the Eagles.”

“They’re great.”

Niall’s clearly ready to move past the conversation, just like Harry has been since before it started, but Louis and Liam don’t catch the hint. “So you just don’t have a soulmark then?”

All of the talk of soulmates and songs is getting to Harry. He just wanted a peaceful night to get drunk and forget that his love life is a shit show and that the one person he’s meant to be with actually _isn’t_ his one true love.

He breaks.

“Niall doesn’t have a soulmate, and he’s perfectly happy with it. He’s going to be alone forever, and I’m going to be alone forever, and it’s okay. We’re going to be eighty living in our tiny little flat with nobody to fucking love, and that’s apparently perfectly fine.”

The booth turns silent as Harry downs the rest of his drink in frustration. Everyone is watching him, worried, and Harry’s had about enough. He needs to leave.

“I need another drink.”

He gets up and walks away, staggering easily towards the bar. He just needs one more to get him through the night, and then he’ll make his way home.

He orders something, anything, telling the bartender to give him something with a lot of alcohol. Drinking isn’t going to make the pain go away, but it’ll sure as hell numb him long enough to make the night tolerable.

As soon as the bartender hands off the glass, a hand is coming in between Harry and the drink to grab it. Harry’s not surprised to see Louis’s concerned eyes and scoffs upon the realization that he’s never going to have a moment alone here.

“I think you’ve had enough, love.”

“Give that back,” Harry demands, reaching for the glass. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Louis keeps his hands away from Harry’s reach. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You aren’t helping, actually,” Harry bites. “You’re very distracting, and all I want to do is drink.”

“Look.” Louis takes a step back and puts the drink on the counter. He’s got an iron grip on it, keeping Harry from being able to snatch it from him. “I’ll take this drink for a little, and you can have it after you’ve waited a bit. I just don’t want you to overdo it.”

“I’m _not_ drinking it watered down.”

“Then I’ll buy you a new one.”

Harry scoffs. “Of _course_ you will.”

Louis goes still at that, eyebrow quirked and seaglass eyes brimming with confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a nice guy and anyone in the world would be lucky to have you, I’m sure, but right now I want you to get the fuck out of my face.”

“Why are you being so - ”

The beginning riffs of a familiar song start playing and it stops Harry and Louis’ argument before it could really start.

Both of their heads snap towards the stage concurrently. Harry knows the tune because it’s etched on his body and into his heart for his entire life. Louis acts equally as frozen for some reason, but Harry’s too scared to worry about him.

At least, it _feels_ like fear. His palms are sweating profusely and his head his pounding. The room is dancing circles around and it feels like he’s moments away from losing his his grip of reality and falling into a deep, dark pit of despair.

All of the contents in his stomach come barrelling up at once.

He doesn’t stay and watch the performance, he doesn’t stay to finish (or continue) his argument with Louis. His hand shoots up to his mouth, and he takes off to the bathroom, barely making it into the stall before everything comes out.

He’s never been so humiliated in his life.

Out at the booth, he was a complete prick to his friends, and at the bar he was a belligerent drunk with Louis, and the moment the song came on? Well that’s when everything really went to shit.

It’s his _soulmate’s_ favorite song. Hearing it should’ve made him light up inside and realize everything he never knew about love, but instead, he’s vomiting in the bathroom of SoMa, hoping more than anything that he could just lie down on the floor and die.

Through the walls he can hear the woman finishing the song, the very one written on Harry’s shoulder. It sounds perfectly lovely, but Harry knows - _somehow_ he knows - that she isn’t the one for him.

Since the last time he was here, despite meeting the man of his dreams and falling in love, his life has become miserable. He just wants to meet his soulmate, but given the way tonight went, it doesn’t look like that’ll be happening maybe ever.  

He throws up, doing so until there’s nothing left in his stomach to evacuate, sobbing uncontrollably as he does so. He can’t believe he’s been reduced to this mess.

His heads been resting against the stall for not even thirty seconds when there’s a gentle tap against the door. “Harry, love,” Louis’ voice rings out. “You alright?”

“No.”

“Can I come in?”

Harry’s chin has puke on it, and his eyes have to be bloodshot from all the crying he’s doing. He’s disgusting and the thought of Louis seeing him like this is the very last thing Harry wants to happen. “No.”

“That’s alright too,” Louis validates him through the door. It’s equally as frustrating as it is sweet. “I’ll stay here until you’re ready.”

“Go away.”

Louis sighs, and Harry hates the strain in it. “You know I can’t do that, love.”

It goes silent. Harry doesn’t know what to say, can’t speak up too loud or he’ll start crying even harder. He just wants to be alone and hate himself for a little bit, but Louis’ such a good guy. He’s a goddamn saint and he only cares about Harry’s well being.

It’s unfair.

“Was it the alcohol that did that this to you or the song?” Louis asks after the silence has gone on a minute too long.

Harry scoffs, the thickness in his throat making the sound choked and barely audible. “Does it matter?”

“If it was the alcohol, then I told you so - ”

Harry laughs and he hates Louis for making it happen. Even when he’s sad, angry, embarrassed, and sick, Louis never fails to make him smile. It’s infuriating.

“If it was the song,” Louis continues, “then I’m sorry to tell you that she wasn’t your soulmate.”

Harry stills. It’s not news, he could tell from the first moment that the woman onstage wasn’t his, but hearing Louis say it both relieving and thought provoking. “How do you know?”

“Niall went up to her after the song was over and asked. She has _Talk Dirty_ on her.”

Harry can feel himself smiling into the plastic of the wall. “That’s a terrible song.”

“It’s fun - ”

“Imagine the jokes her soulmate’s going to make,” Harry brings up because he can’t stop himself. “All because ‘Talk Dirty’ is permanently on her body.”

Harry laughs at his own joke, and he’s happy when Louis joins in. It feels like things are slowly going back to normal. Harry’s not sure when everything started getting so fucked up, but he’d give anything to take it back.

“Are you upset she’s not yours?” Louis questions.

Harry thinks about it, thinks about how he felt when he saw her, how her voice sounded, and what his body was telling him. “Not really.” Not at all.

“Yeah?”

“I couldn’t love her.” Harry couldn’t love anybody other than Louis, he doesn’t think.

The bathroom is mostly silent now, only the bass from the music in the main part of the bar resonating through the walls. It gives Harry time to sort himself. He knows Louis’ on the other side of the door, probably listening, waiting for Harry to present himself. He uses toilet paper to wipe his face as clean as he possibly can, and flushes the used paper down the toilet.

“You ready to go home?” Louis asks. Instead of responding, Harry merely stands up, open the doors, and falls into Louis’ chest. It’s just a hug, but Harry puts all he has in it, hoping Louis can hear the apology. “You want to spend the night at mine? I’ll make you a bang up brekky.”

“I should just go home,” Harry says. “I have brunch with Gemma in the morning.”

He tries to pull back from the hug, but Louis holds him tighter. It’s almost too much, but it’s exactly what he needs. “Nonsense. I’ll tag along.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“Course I do, love. I always want to spend time with you.”

Harry can feel himself beginning to cry again - his eyes watering a lump clogging his throat with all the love he feels towards man. He tries to hide his face in Louis’ chest, doesn’t want Louis to see just how much he affects Harry, though he probably already knows.  

Going home with Louis isn’t smart - it’s a bad idea. He’s selfish, though, and is absolutely going through with it.

“Alright.”

Louis leans back, trying to get a look at Harry’s face. “Alright?”

“Let’s go to yours.”

Louis smiles and it’s heartbreaking. Everything Louis does tears Harry’s heart right out of his chest. He leads Harry out of the bathroom and the two of them make their way to Louis’ flat.

Louis refuses to let either of them sleep on the couch, so they pass out in his bed, Harry asleep on Louis’ chest.

A big part of Harry would like to say he’s worried about what Louis’ soulmate would say if they saw the two of them cuddled together, but truthfully, that’s the last thing on his mind. It’s impossible for him to focus on anything other than Louis’ steady heartbeat harmonizing in perfect tandem with his own.

♬

Harry was ten years old when he fell in love with his best friend Johnny.

Well, the term ‘love’ is used loosely here. It was mostly just Harry following Johnny around like a lost puppy, and Johnny laughing at all the different things he could make Harry do for him.

When Johnny found his favorite song, Harry searched his body up and down for a mark, wanting more than anything to see _All Star_ suddenly tattooed on his skin. Nothing appeared, and Harry spent three days in bed crying. They say that heartache doesn't last forever, but when Harry was starry eyed and unprepared, the pain felt infinite. 

After that, he vowed to never fall in love again.

He failed.

Clearly.

♬

Harry didn’t wake up magically feeling on top of the world. Being curled against Louis’ body as he roused was a dream come true, but it wasn’t the cure for whatever demon possessed Harry last night and made him drink half of the bar.

Louis held true to his promise and accompanied Harry to the Flat White Cafe, but only after forcing him to take a shower and giving him clean clothes to wear. He did God’s work and even though Harry’s in sunglasses and a beanie, still too sensitive to fully expose his eyes to the sunlight, he’s better than he was.

Now they’re approaching the cafe, and though Harry still feels like shit, he’s mostly just worried about Louis, who he’s certain is the love of his life, meeting his sister, a real-life demon.

 **“** Should I be worried about your sister?” Louis asks. His voice is tinged with nerves, and Harry’s wants to laugh at his discomposure. “Is there anything I should know or be warned about?”

Harry shakes his head. His sister is a devious thing, but she’s always perfectly cordial when meeting new people. “She’ll talk about her daughter a lot.”

“I love kids!”

He knows Louis has siblings, they’ve talked about it time and time again, but the idea of Louis with kids is cataclysmic to Harry’s psyche. He’s barely awake and already Louis is too much for him.

“Well…” Harry manages to choke out, “she has a lot of pictures.”

They make it inside, and Gemma spots Harry before he spots her. She’s waving him down before he can even prepare himself for her energetic, and most likely interrogating, conversation. Instead of greeting him with a hug and kind words, she only glares at him. “You’re late, little brother.”

“I’m hungover.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re a bit of a lightweight.” Gemma responds, and Louis chuckles behind Harry. Under any other circumstances, the sound is Harry’s second favorite song, but now he knows it can’t be good. Gemma’s eyes laser focus in on where he’s standing diagonally behind Harry. “And who is this?”

“Gemma, this is my friend Louis,” Harry introduces listlessly as he falls into one of the chairs. “Louis, this is my terrible sister, Gemma.”

Gemma all but ignores Harry from that point on, placing a lovely grin upon her face and setting her hand out to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Friend Louis.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Terrible Sister Gemma,” Louis returns. “Harry’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, has he?” Gemma eases herself gracefully into a seat, glancing at Harry as she lowers. “What about? The time I chased him around the house with scissors and threatened to cut his hair or when I told him wrestling was staged and he told our mum I was drug dealer as revenge?”

Louis laughs at that, loud and melodious. Harry can’t even bother to be irritated at the sound. If anything, Louis’ laughter could _cure_ his hangover. “Neither actually. All the stories painted you in a better light.”

“Well _that’s_ surprising.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t completely hate you… what news!” He blames the alcohol for his bitterness.

Louis waves him off. “Ignore him, he didn’t sleep well last night.”

The look Gemma flashes at him holds meaning, and he knows that the next time they’re alone together, he’s going to get an earful from her.

“So I hear you have a daughter you never stop talking about,” Louis brings up, and Harry is once again thankful to have this man in his life.

“I do!”

When the waitress comes by to take their orders, Harry orders for each of them - the other two so hyperfocused on the pictures Gemma’s showing, and while Harry would rather be anywhere than here, he doesn’t want to interrupt them.

Lately when he’s with Louis, it hurts. It hurts seeing how perfectly suited they are for each other, that if they took the chance, there would be sparks of electric love flaring off of them at every turn. They’d be unstoppable and mountains would move for them, Harry’s positive.

Seeing Louis sitting there with Gemma, getting along like close friends, Harry’s immediately struck with the thought of how his _mum_ would fit in with Louis. They’d laugh together and tease Harry, and it’d be one big happy family.

But Harry’s not going to be blessed with that. The universe, despite supposedly knowing exactly who his other half is, actually fucked up, and now Harry’s stuck with the might’ve-beens.

Halfway through brunch, of which Harry has eggs and black coffee and said hardly anything at all, Louis gets up to use the bathroom. The second he’s around the corner -

“I _love_ him.”

Harry laughs, a small, self-depreciating scoff of a thing. “So do I.”  

“Is he the soulmate/not-soulmate?” Gemma’s head is tilted in genuine curiosity, and Harry suddenly finds everything hilarious. His sister naively thinks that everything is so simple, and for once he feels eons older than her.

“He’s definitely _not_ \- ”

Just as Harry’s about to go on and list every reason why Louis - in spite of being perfect - is not his soulmate and will never be his soulmate, the man himself comes hustling back to the table. He sets his coffee mug on the table, apparently having tried taking that with him to the bathroom.

“Can’t bring that with me, can I?” He jokes, his tongue peeking out from behind his mouth as he chuckles.

Gemma smiles, clearly charmed with him, but Harry doesn’t really move. He’s slouching, his arms crossed, trying to pull himself away from everything as smoothly as possible. He loves Louis, he does, but seeing him here with Gemma, here in the wrong context, it all hurts too much.

Louis notices his subdued demeanor and immediately does the classic Louis move and begins to dote on him. “You alright, love?”

“I’m good.”

“Want me to buy you another coffee?” Louis offer, not taking Harry’s word to be true. “Maybe some tea, actually, so you’re not too caffeinated.”

“I’m fine.”

“Alright.” He backs away, arms held up in surrender. His body language says he’s done, but his face reads mischief, and he knows it’s not the end of it. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks away again, hustling back to the bathroom, and the second he’s out of sight, Gemma pounces again. “Come _on_ !” Her eyes are sparkling and she’s grinning so hard her dimple is river deep. She clearly thinks what just happened was proof of them belonging together, and Harry definitely agrees. They _do_ belong together.

But fate begs to differ.

“Gemma, don’t.”

“Are you kidding me, Harry? He’s clearly into you!”

Harry knows what she sees - he saw the same thing up until Louis found his soulmate. Now he knows that Louis isn’t interested in him. He never was.

“He has a soulmate,” Harry points out, “and it isn’t me. I’ve been trying to get him to admit we’re soulmates since the moment we met, but he hasn’t said a thing, so clearly it’s a no-go.”

“Are you - ” Gemma stops herself, looking over Harry’s shoulder, and for a moment he thinks Louis is back already, but there’s a distant look in her eyes before she zoning back in. “Harry, are you sure? Even just talking to him, I can tell he’s perfect for you.”

Harry chuckles. He knows that they’re perfect for each other, but there’s nothing between them. “I slept over last night, and woke up with my morning wood poking him in the goddamn thigh, and he fucking apologized to me.”

“Harry - ”

“ _He_ apologized to _me_ , Gemma,” he clarifies, putting on extra emphasis so Gemma gets just how low things have gotten for him. “He said he was sorry if he made me uncomfortable by his being there. In _his_ bed.”

“Why were you sharing a bed?”

Of course that’s what she would get from the conversation. Harry rolls his eyes. “He wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch.”

“And he couldn’t sleep on the couch?”

“It’s his house - ”

“God, Harry,” Gemma interrupts him. Her voice is quiet, but she’s speaking in that pointed way that always makes Harry feel like he’s being yelled at. “You’re so fucking inept. This guy is clearly in love with you - even if he isn’t your soulmate - and you’re just letting him slip through your fingers.”

“I really - ”

“He’s buying you tea,” She all but yells in her hushed tone. “You said no, but he has your wellbeing in mind, and he’s buying you _tea_. How can you be so clueless?”

“Gemma,” Harry pleads, his voice cracking along the way. “Stop.”

Gemma sighs, but she doesn’t back down. If anything, there’s a fierceness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m going to stop because it’s clearly upsetting, but I think I was wrong about him when you first met. Clearly there’s something there, and you need to take a closer look at what’s right in front of your face.”

Harry purses his lips and turns away, Gemma’s words hitting hard and making him feel even worse than before. Harry _has_ seen what’s in front of him.

 _Who’s_ in front of him.

And by who, he of course means the perfect man. The man Harry should be with forever. Someone kind, and caring, and ridiculous enough to put up with Harry’s jokes, and even find them funny. It’s someone who seems to be Harry’s exact opposite, but his complete equal on so many other levels. Before him stands what should be Harry’s soulmate, but something went wrong, and it’s not who his soulmate is after all .

After they sit in silence for far too long, Louis returns and sets a mug of tea in front of Harry. “I didn’t put any sugar in it, but I did have them add some honey.”

Harry clears his throat, glad that the sunglasses keep Louis and Gemma from seeing all of the emotion swimming in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Louis smiles at Harry and then turns back to Gemma as if they’ve known each other for years and they’re catching each other up on the past. “Now where were we?”

What stings the most is knowing that Harry’s not the only that sees their compatibility.

So why aren’t they together?

♬

Time goes on and nothing gets easier. Harry still hates every enjoyable moment of his life, colors seem duller, and music just stops. Louis isn’t his soulmate, and the world still turns, but life doesn’t go on.

Without Louis, Harry ceases to be.

They still get together and spend all their waking moments together, but Harry doesn’t find the joy in it he should. He wants Louis so bad it hurts. Every day is a glimpse at a life in which they’re together, and every day it gets harder to breathe.

They’re all together watching movies in Harry and Niall’s tiny flat. Niall suggested going to a bigger place, but Louis wouldn’t have it. He insisted that it was reminiscent of his younger days, and the small space just meant they got to be closer together.

Harry was so goddamn endeared.

He’s decided to keep his distance from everyone tonight. He mostly was trying to keep from Louis, but he didn’t want it to be obvious, and decided to just isolate himself instead. He’s sitting alone in a chair separate from the group. Louis’ lying on the couch, his feet in Niall’s lap, and Liam’s in front of them, leaning against the couch.

It feels like a metaphor of where Harry is in life. So close to Louis, but so… fucking… far.

Sometime after they’ve put the third movie of the night in, Louis’ taken to asking Liam to hand him things from the coffee table: his phone, some popcorn, his cup.

It’s when Liam hands him the last one, his open drink, filled to the brim, that Liam’s hand slips and the beverage completely drenches Louis’ henley.

“Woah - ”

“Shit, Louis.” Liam scurries up from his seat and grabs for a few tissues to hand to Louis. His hands are moving frantically, and Harry would laugh if Liam didn’t look so genuinely frustrated with himself. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay, I just - ” Louis scoffs, lifting the tacky fabric off his stomach. He looks towards the chair in the corner, eyes pinched tight. “Harry, love, do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

Harry nods. “Of course.”

He blindly gets up, not even checking to see if Louis follows him, and rushes into his room. The domestic part of him is stressing internally about cleaning that shirt. It’s light grey, for goodness sake - it’ll stain!

“Just, put the shirt in the laundry basket,” Harry orders, waving his hand in the direction of his half-filled basket, “and I’ll put it in the wash so you can have it before you go back home.”

“Sure.”

Harry goes to his closet and pulls out a shirt, carefully avoiding anything to do with music, and turns around to toss it at Louis.

Something stops him.

Louis’ rid himself of the wet fabric, and he’s using the the dry sections of his shirt to clean up the parts of his skin where the the drink flooded through. His upper body is covered in tattoos, something Harry never knew. Louis’ body is beautiful, sculpted by the Gods, Harry would assume, and though the sight is breathtaking, that’s not what grabs Harry’s attention.

There’s a small tattoo.

In a delicate cursive scrawl on Louis’ left rib, reads _Stairway to Heaven_ , and Harry’s heart stops.

“Louis…”

“Yeah?”

Louis doesn’t look at Harry, though it’s not like Harry’d notice if he did. All he can feel is the way his soul seems to _float_ out of his body. The world stills around him, everything stops. There’s no sign of life, not a single heartbeat other than his own.

Color flashes behind his eyes - there’s no space left uncolored with the iridescent beams. The warmth of the sun bathes his skin and he hears the voices of a thousand choirs singing straight to his soul.

Harry can breathe, he can see and taste and hear and _be_ . It feels like every second of his life has been unlived until now, and all that matters is him, Louis, and _Highway to Hell_.

For the first time in months, or maybe his entire life, Harry can see the beauty in the world - in himself.

He’s whole again.

Suddenly, everything starts moving. Harry drops back into himself, the colors fade, but stay brighter than before, and the world begins to turn again.

The first breath Harry tasks is a gasp, and then suddenly, he’s sobbing.

It feels like Harry’s been reborn, he’s never seen colors so bright, or felt things so strongly. Every emotion he’s ever experienced is hitting him all at once, and he can’t stop the tears from flowing or the hiccupping gasps.

Louis looks up, alarmed. He catches where Harry’s gaze is stuck, right at his left rib where their love is mapped out beautifully.

“Oh,” he says looking down. “That.” Harry can’t respond. He’s inconsolable at this point, the emotions overpowering him, filling him so high that crying is the only release he has. “Harry, love - ”

Louis tries to hug Harry, but he backs away before Louis can make contact. “Please don’t be mad. Let me explain.”

Harry’s shaking his head, unable to say what he needs to. He’s not mad. He’s not sure how to feel at this point, but physical contact might just be too much. Especially with how intensely Harry’s feeling things.

“I - I knew it the second I saw you,” Louis starts, voice louder than usual so Harry can hear him over the pounding in his own head and the wretched sobs he can’t seem to control. “I heard the song start at SoMa, and I didn’t think much of it, but then I saw you, Harry, and you were everything. The song - the song is good, but Harry you’re… you’re my home.”

Harry’s exhausted, the revelation and emotional flood taking so much out of him, that he begins to collapse. Louis catches him before he can fall and lowers them both to the ground. He keeps Harry close, holding him close to his chest and running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

He begins to make soothing noises and though Harry’s still not certain what’s happening, why everything is coming out at once, or why he’s suddenly packed tight with every emotion in the world, he can feel himself calming down.

When Harry’s managed to slow down to rolling hiccups, still crying, but much more approachable now, Louis begins explaining. “I had to talk to you, to do something, and I kept wanting to find out what your soulmark said, so I could see if we _really_ fit, but, love - I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on you.” His hands never cease their moment in Harry’s hair, and it helps ground him. “When I found out, when I knew for sure - it was in that record shop on Kingly Street - I was elated. I wanted to tell you right away, but the time didn’t feel right.”

Harry doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t know if he _can_. These past few months have been so intense and Harry’s convinced himself that he and Louis could never be. Hearing now that he was wrong, it’s a lot. It doesn’t feel real. It’s like a dream, like any moment he’ll wake up and be pulled back into the nightmare that is reality.

“I kept trying to tell you, you know,” Louis continues. “At the halloween party, in the car with my mix cd, and I even bought a soulmate book at your store. I guess it just didn’t translate well.” Harry opens his mouth, but Louis stutters. “I… I tried to - to tell you.” His hands falter and slide off of Harry’s head, but he’s still keeps Harry close. “I did, but I just couldn’t get the words out, and then it kept getting harder and harder. These past few months have been miserable, Harry. Knowing that we were so close, but my own stupid mouth kept us from being together. I know it doesn’t make up for it - far from it - but I just want you to know that keeping this from you was _never_ my intention. Seeing you hurt is the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

Louis finishes there. He must be giving Harry time to think about everything, to let it all sink in. He drops his hands to Harry’s back and just holds him. They’re leaning against the dresser, letting the silence engulf them. Harry can feel the heat radiating off of Louis’ body, can hear the way Louis’ breath falters when Harry’s fingers trace the lines of his soulmark.

Time passes and Harry feels himself calm down. Breathing becomes easier, and he can blink without a torrent of tears streaming down his face. It’s all confusing him, he doesn’t know what’s happening in the world around him.

He’s relaxed, but his body is singing with tension. He’s still, but his skin is vibrating. He doesn’t know how to feel, doesn’t know if any of this is real or if he’s just hit his breaking point and all of this is in his head.

He’s numb again.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” Harry finally gets enough footing to ask.

“The timing never felt right,” Louis explains. Harry wishes he could feel his heartbeat more clearly, to tell if he’s lying. Not that he doesn’t believe him, but if feels like his mind is playing tricks on him. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Why - ” Harry clears his throat. Not because he needs to, but because it gives him a moment to think through what he’s about to say. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Louis’ face pinches, pain carved into every inch of his face. Harry knows his words aren’t unwarranted and that Louis deserves to know the truth, but Harry hurts just seeing him.

Louis said seeing Harry hurt is the worst pain, and he’s not alone with that.

“I’m sorry I did anything to make you doubt it,” Louis whispers, the words sounding bare and ripped straight from his heart. “I was in love with you before I even knew what love felt like.”

Harry feels the same, but everything around him is paper thin and fragile. He doesn’t want to get excited just for everything to break in front of him.

Louis fingers grip Harry’s sides tightly, and he wants them to stay there forever. “You have to know this is real. I can’t have been the only one to feel so desperate just to be around you.” He wasn’t. “Whenever we’re apart, I feel homesick for a home I didn’t even know I had.”

He knows what Louis’ saying, he understands it first hand, but that makes it seem all the more surreal. Their experiences are the same  - the _exact_ same.

“I just - this doesn’t feel real.”

Louis laughs. Harry can’t tell if there’s humor there, but the sound is still euphonious. “That’s the beauty of it, I think. You think that everything could slip away any moment, and it hurts in the best way, makes you hold on tighter.”

“But - ”

“I know you’re having trouble believing me,” Louis says. His eyes are boring into Harry’s and everything unsaid is floating around. Harry’s frozen in their gaze. “But just know that I could never doubt us. There isn’t a universe where we aren’t meant to be together. And if there is, I can guarantee that I’m fighting for you anyway.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“It can, actually.” Louis’ teasing smile is back, and it’s a breath of fresh air. “I promise you.”

Harry watches Louis closely, he can see the the freckles on Louis cheek, the summer stars in the night sky. It keeps him at ease. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because me and a bunch of other Louis’ got together and had a meeting. While we may have disagreed on quite a few things, there was one thing we all know for certain.”

“And what’s that?”

“There is no Louis Tomlinson without Harry Styles. You’re my heartbeat, love, and without you I just can’t be.”

He’s sincere, Harry knows he is, and maybe that’s what wounds him the most. That this isn’t a dream, and all of Harry’s sorrow these past months has been in vain.

The tears come back, and suddenly he’s crying on Louis shoulder. “Come on, love,” Louis rub his back, letting him soak his bare skin with his salty tears. “Let it all out.”

“I can’t help it,” Harry complains, pulling off of Louis’ shoulder and wiping angrily at his watery eyes. “I’m mad at you.”

Louis laughs suddenly, resulting in Harry glaring at him. “I know it’s not funny, love. I’m sorry. What will make you forgive me?”

“Louis,” Harry sighs, putting thought into what to say, what could make him forgive Louis. If Louis even _needs_ to be forgiven. They _both_ have fucked up. “This is a lot. I - ”

“I know,” Louis agrees. “And I don’t want you to forgive me just because I’m asking. I want you to tell me how to make this up to you.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Louis laughs even harder, the smile on his face eclipsing all of the sadness Harry wants to feel. “Shit, yeah, you’re right.” Louis takes a moment to reign in his laughter. “Okay, I don’t want you to forgive me today, not if it doesn’t feel right. I will take as long as you need to let you settle with this. If you don’t want me I understand, but…”

Harry stays quiet, waiting for Louis continue his speech. When he doesn’t, Harry prods him. “But what?”

“Making you happy is all I’ve wanted these past few months.” He settles on. Harry cuddles into Louis body, enjoying the closeness. They’ve not been able to really do this, to just _be_. “The moment I saw you, the first thing I did was make you blush, do you remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Harry mumbles in Louis’ collar.

“All I’ve been thinking about then has been how to keep that look on your face,” Louis explains. His voice is slowly getting lower, the moment feeling more intimate than anything they’ve ever experienced together. “I want to make you laugh and blush and smile for the rest of your life, and if it takes _years_ to get you to forgive me, I will wait. I will wait as long as I need to, just to see you smile for me.”

Harry has a lot going through his mind, and he doesn’t know how to articulate it all. There’s an overflow of apologies and confessions and forgiveness all ready to flow out, but he’s having trouble sorting his head out.

“I knew, the moment I saw you that there was something special about you,” Harry starts. His voice is low and slow, and feels like such a release, even just saying those few words feels like all of the hot air and raw emotion in his head is being slowly let out.

“I - ”

“I need to say this, Louis. Please.” Louis hears the urgency in his voice, understands that this is something Harry _needs_ to get out. He nods. “I haven’t stopped thinking of you for a second since then. Even when I thought we weren’t soulmates, I _knew_ we were destined to be together. Favorite songs be damned, we fit perfectly together, and I was ready to throw caution to the wind and run away with you even if it meant betraying my own soulmate.” His voice keeps cracking, and he knows he moments away from another breakdown. “But then you found your soulmate, and I never _asked_. I didn’t ask who it was, and I didn’t ask your favorite song. I kept waiting for something to happen, and I never made the first move, and the fact that my obliviousness could have been our downfall breaks my heart.”

Louis looks crushed at Harry’s confession. He rushes to assure him, “None of this is your fault.”

“I should have asked!”

“I should’ve said something the _moment_ I knew,” Louis counters. He’s shaking his head as if he doesn’t want to hear any of Harry’s self-blame. “In SoMa, in the record store, at brunch with your sister - I’ve had a million opportunities, but I kept my mouth shut.”

“I was content to be miserable for the rest of my life if I couldn’t have you,” Harry explains, saying what’s been on his mind since the very moment he began to think Louis belonged to someone else. “And I never even asked. I never once said a word about us being together. You tried to tell me, you wore the costume, you bought the book, and I _pined_. I should have spoken up. I should have - ”

“We both should’ve done a lot of things,” Louis cuts off Harry ramblings before they go too far. “But we didn’t. We both messed up.”

The emotions start to come back, and Harry can feel the tears welling in his eyes again. “We could’ve been so happy - ”

“We _will_ be, Harry,” Louis insists. His face is open, not an expression Harry’s confused by. Louis’ _hopeful_. “Nothing’s over. We’ve wasted a few months, but we have our whole lives ahead of us. We’re going to make mistakes and bicker, but we’re going to do it growing old together.”

Everything is so serious, and Harry’s near exhausted himself with all of the changes in mood and topics, but Harry can’t help himself from teasing, “You’re already old.”

Louis all but cackles. “You’re damn right I am.” They sit in silence again, holding each other and basking in the warm glow surrounding them. “Do you think we’ll be alright, love? Do you think you can forgive me in time?”

“I do,” Harry answers immediately. He doesn’t even have to think about it. “I really do, but we have to work.”

“Of course! I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.”

Harry nods, burrowing himself closer to Louis. “I know where you can start.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?” Louis rests his chin on top of Harry’s head, and feels like they’re slowly curling into a ball. It’s the most comfortable Harry’s ever been.

“With a better taste in music.”

“Oi!”

Harry snickers at his joke. He can’t see Louis’ face, but he can imagine the betrayed look painted on. “That song is terrible.”

Louis scoffs. “You love it.”

Harry’s always had great timing. Sure, he trips over his words and makes a lot of ridiculous puns, but his timing is impeccable, and while jokes are lovely, there’s one moment Harry wants to land flawlessly, one moment that Harry wants to make perfect.

He leans back, slightly detaching himself from Louis, and looks into his soulmate’s eyes. He can see the stars twinkling at him, and he _knows_ it’s right.

“I love _you_.”

Louis’ silent at first, doesn’t return the sentiment yet. Harry holds his breath.

As he’s waiting for the words, Louis leans in, his lips slowly capturing Harry’s. It’s slow, sweet, and innocent; everything Harry’s ever wanted from a first kiss.

The first of many.

Louis pulls back, and Harry wants to chase after him.

“I love you too,” he repeats, and Harry feels like the skies have opened, shining light directly into his soul. "How could I not," Louis laughs. "That little twinkle in your eye gets me every time." 

It’s going to take time for them to work on themselves and become what they can be. Even now, they’re sitting on the ground, Harry’s eyes are heavy from crying, and Louis still doesn’t have a clean shirt.  

But everything is perfect.  

♬

Harry was twenty-three when he fell in love with Louis Tomlinson.

Or maybe he was younger.

He can’t remember a time when he _wasn’t_ in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/sapphicbee) | [Tumblr](http://aceniall.tumblr.com)


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